


Love Hesitates

by Cyanide_Kettle



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Budapest, Caring, Coulson is a walking meme, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Fluff, Fury is not evil, Fury ships it, I will be Jossed, Intimacy, Light Bondage, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Multiple Sex Positions, POV Multiple, Pheels, guess who lives, the boys deserve happiness, they last for years
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 38,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyanide_Kettle/pseuds/Cyanide_Kettle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It only started in Budapest.  It hasn’t finished yet.  A tale of how their lives twine together over so many years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Budapest

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a massive undertaking of a story. A friend dubbed it “monster smut.” Somewhere along the way I accidentally a plot, but not much of one. This basically follows the moments of Phil and Clint’s building relationship against the backdrop of events mentioned in the MCU. It is one of, possibly my main, head canon for these two.
> 
> Possible Trigger Warnings: The words “slut” and “whore” are used, but I felt they were fitting to the context and narrative. No one is actually shamed. Proceed with caution if you are still wary of these terms. Slight homophobia also appears. Remember that authors do not always agree with what characters say or believe, and that writing, when done correctly, should not shy away from the politically incorrect.

The mission was FUBAR. Only Black Widow’s quick skill saved Clint after his cover was blown. He’d tried to go off the radar to keep the others safe, but he had not estimated the scope of Coulson’s anger. Agent Phil Coulson did not leave people behind, and now they were stuck pretending to be dumb American tourists in a tiny Hungarian hotel while Natasha tried to find a safe way for them to get out of the country.

The moment the hotel door closed, Clint was pinned against the wood, Coulson’s forearm nearly cutting his air. The man was livid. “You don’t go off-grid like that again, Barton.”

“Hey, I got the job done!”

“Did you not. Fucking. Hear me. Romanoff couldn’t even find you.”

“Aw, were you worried? Gonna spank me now?”

For a few seconds, Clint saw the true danger that lay coiled within Coulson. Clint might have the brute strength to overpower the man, but unless he was willing to cause real harm, he knew he could not beat Coulson in a conflict.

Coulson’s eyes were dilated. The tension of his body holding Clint to the wall radiated adrenaline. Maybe fear, too. Clint wondered what his own eyes showed. Okay, so attempting the seduction route on their mark had not gone well, and Coulson’s almost-patented intense look was plenty of reprimand for Clint even trying.

Clint never shied away from eye contact when it came to Coulson. Not since that first time he was told off for the unnecessarily submissive gesture. He was one of the extremely few who could withstand a Coulson stare. By now the feat was a matter of pride.

Not to say the ability was without its challenge. Years of working together had built more than mutual trust. Clint’s flirting might never lead to anything, but he knew the friction of sexual tension was not one-sided. Neither acted on it out of some unspoken agreement, but that desire was another depth to their partnership. The physical pull was there.

To be honest, they’d been circling around each other for a long time. Mutual agreement not to act on it was one thing, visceral enjoyment of the mutual strain was another. The fact that Coulson also cared, when Clint’s life history made him believe the line that no one cared about dumb hick carnies, honestly made things more than sexual. Maybe that respect was why nothing physical had ever happened before. The thing was, that look in Coulson’s eyes was different...

Then Coulson’s mouth was on his. Hot. Demanding. Clint would be lying if he said it really surprised him. He could go with this.

Clint gripped Coulson’s shoulders and kissed back. Their mouths warred. As soon as Clint tried to push away from the wall, Coulson pressed into him again. The man was stronger than he looked. Clint might be pure bunched power, but Coulson was lean strength. He wedged a leg between Clint’s hips, grinding obscenely.

There were other ways to retaliate. Clint nipped at Coulson’s lips, taunting with his tongue. The older man shuddered and somehow pressed even harder against Clint. No doubt was left of either man’s arousal.

Clint managed to gain a handful of Coulson’s hair so he could tug the man's head into a better angle. When he nipped at Coulson’s tongue, Coulson slid a hard hand beneath Clint’s t-shirt, fingertips firm between Clint’s ribs. Clint thought that might be a nice place to gain a few sexy bruises.

Coulson broke from the kiss to yank Clint’s shirt off. Clint’s head thumped back against the wall when hands and mouth began molesting his chest. He groaned. How did Coulson know?

Coiling his strength, Clint pushed Coulson backward toward the bed. The hotel room was small, and in three steps they were nearly across it. Because he was a ninja, Coulson again turned control back over to himself. Grabbing the waistband of Clint’s cargo pants, Coulson spun them so Clint was the one to topple back onto the bed. His suit jacket was off in less than a second. He fixed a glare on Clint when the younger man propped himself on his elbows.

“You stay on that bed, goddamn you,” Coulson warned while yanking open the buttons of his shirt.

Clint licked his lips and watched from beneath hooded eyes. Coulson was a work of beauty. How did anyone tailor those suits to hide that? Agent Coulson still had too many secrets. Clint could probably spend ten times the handful of years they’d worked together, trying to pry out all of Coulson’s depths.

Grinning, Clint reached into his pocket. He always carried condoms and lube on missions. The materials had a thousand alternate uses, and together they were an excellent diversion. Their shock value had worked in his favor several times. They were almost as versatile as duct tape. Coulson toed off his shoes as Clint tossed the supplies on the nightstand, not breaking eye contact.

Clint sat up and hooked his fingers into Coulson’s waistband. That skin needed to be under his hands already. Coulson went with Clint’s urging and knelt astride Clint’s thighs on the bed. He angled his mouth over the younger man’s.

Coulson’s bare skin was better than Clint could have imagined. Smooth. Hot. Lightly tanned. He raked his nails along either side of Coulson’s spine and was rewarded with a nip to his lower lip along with another low growling purr.

This was going to be so good.

Clint let Coulson push until they both lay on the bed, sucking face like men starving for it. His hips ground beneath Coulson’s, and judging by the feel contained behind that fly, that was going to be a delectable prize once the trousers came off. Clint draped a leg behind Coulson’s and swallowed the man’s groan.

But this was getting too languid too soon. Using a move Natasha had taught him, Clint rolled until he lay on top. He let his weight settle them together and smirked down at Coulson. “We gonna neck, or are we gonna fuck?”

The wicked look in Coulson’s eyes might have worried Clint, if he was capable of any thought before Coulson yanked on his hair, baring Clint’s collarbone for a ruthless bite. The man’s other hand made quick history of Clint’s pants. Before he could even gasp, Clint was nude except for his gray boxer briefs.

“Fuck,” Clint bit out. He surged to his knees and shimmied out of his underwear before working at the fastenings of Coulson’s slacks. It was not made any easier by Coulson sliding a hot hand over Clint’s cock.

Coulson’s cock was impressive. Clint slid partly off the man so he could play with that gorgeous erection.

“Menace,” Coulson growled, sucking at the base of Clint’s jaw.

“Mmm,” Clint hummed, shamelessly rubbing their bodies together. “This gorgeous dick needs to be in me.” He curled his fingers around the shaft and slid his hand slowly from root to tip.

Then Clint was on his back again. It was unfairly hot how Coulson could do that. Clint bent his leg at the knee, spreading in invitation. He smirked when Coulson grabbed the lube from the nightstand.

The slick press of fingers on his perineum made Clint moan. He closed his eyes and arched into Coulson’s touch. Was the man incompetent at anything?

A cool finger slid inside. Clint could come just from that. He squeezed the base of his own cock in desperation not to. When he opened his eyes, Coulson was leering down at him. Damn the man for knowing exactly how to touch.

Coulson leaned over Clint’s body to purr in his ear, “Be a slut for me.” He slid a second finger inside. “Moan those whorish sounds for me.”

Oh god, he’d remembered. Years ago, Clint had flirted down the commlink about being vocal in bed. He’d implied it was a turn on for most. There may have been mention of some prostitute kink. “Goddamn you,” Clint whispered.

He wanted to make Coulson come just as undone. He rolled his hips, grinding deeper onto Coulson’s fingers. It was beyond good to simply spread himself out for the other man’s enjoyment, to take the pleasure offered, to taunt action from Coulson. He stroked himself and audibly bit off a moan. Coulson would have to work for it if he wanted Clint vocal.

More lube and a third finger. Clint gasped. He gave up any pretense of dignity and sprawled beneath Coulson, legs spread, grinding in counterpart to the man’s hand. Clint’s left hand gripped his own cock, trying to stave off orgasm; his right clutched at the sheets and mattress. He couldn’t even gather the wits to tease Coulson’s cock with a free hand.

“I could make you come just from playing with your hole,” Coulson said. He twisted his fingers. “Make you mine.”

“Fuck.” Clint humped down against Coulson’s hand. “Fuck no. That dick needs to be mine.” He released his fistful of bedding to grip Coulson’s hard cock.

Coulson did something between a shudder and a groan and reached for a condom. Clint plucked it from the man’s hand with a leer. He reveled in the sight of Coulson’s eyes darkening as he slowly rolled it on. A teasing caress to Coulson’s balls made the man growl again.

Clint was far from done. He teasingly slicked lube over Coulson’s condom-covered cock. Coulson’s fingers slid out of Clint so he could prop himself over the younger man. This was going to be hard and fast because neither of them had much restraint left.

“Gonna make me moan like a whore?” Clint asked.

Coulson gripped himself. He pushed Clint’s legs farther apart by kneeling between them. “Gonna make you goddamn scream.”

For as urgent as they both felt, Coulson’s slow slide inside was delicious torture. Clint lifted until his hips basically rode Coulson’s lap. His knees bent up alongside Coulson’s flanks. He had no problem playing the whore at the moment.

When Coulson bottomed out, he braced himself on the mattress and looked down at Clint. It was, Clint admitted only to himself, incredible to see that dual look of desire and wonder the first time with a partner. It didn’t always happen. Sometimes it was just sex. But he and Coulson had worked together for five years. The trust built in their type of work was impossible to fake. Clint knew he saw the deeper Coulson. He saw the man who had listened to him make a different call about Black Widow. He saw the man who had single-handedly torn apart a Hydra hideout because they’d been peddling tainted drugs to minors. He saw the man who cared. The man who actually was worried about Clint going off-grid. The man who looked privileged to be in bed with Clint.

What could Clint do but return that intimacy? He reached around Coulson’s neck and urged the man down for a kiss. His own cock was caught between their bellies, rubbed warm with the movement of their breathing.

“Feels good and full,” Clint purred, wriggling his hips.

Coulson shuddered. “You’re always saying how amazing your ass is.” He shifted tighter over Clint. “Prove it.”

Clint stretched his arms up, resting them lightly on the headboard. “Take it.”

Coulson was skilled at everything. The roll of the man’s thrusts could corrupt a saint. He snapped into Clint amidst heavy kisses and scraping teeth. Clint rode it gleefully. Usually he was more active, but something ignited his lust at being able to lay open for Coulson.

When he saw a light sheen of sweat on Coulson’s broad chest, Clint wrapped his limbs around the man and purred in his ear, “Fucking competent at everything, aren’t you? You like pinning me down with your big sexy cock, spreading me open like a whore. You better get your money’s worth...”

Coulson laid another bite mark on Clint’s neck. He trailed his tongue over the tendons until Clint’s words dissolved into moans. The harsh, fast breaths huffing against his skin told Clint all he needed to know. This was ultimate resolved sexual tension.

“Fucking cocktease,” Coulson growled. “All that stuff over the comms...” He flashed his teeth in a filthy grin. “If that keeps up...”

“Oh, it’ll keep up. You like it. All that teasing...” He leered at Coulson and began stroking himself. “Look how it ended up.”

Coulson’s grip clamped on Clint’s hips and he pulled tightly up into his next thrusts. Clint let out a loud moan to reward the man. He felt loose, like he could float in that space before orgasm for hours. Coulson fucked into him in long, deep motions as warmth curled in Clint’s belly.

Then Coulson was squeezing Clint’s balls. Clint’s eyes flew open to see a wicked smolder on Coulson’s face. Clint forgot dignity again and panted for more. He could beg if it was this good. What were Coulson’s hands even doing?

“You need to come for me.”

Coulson’s thumb did something to Clint’s frenulum and Clint was gone. He shouted his orgasm, shamelessly writhing beneath Coulson. The other man followed soon after, arching into Clint with a delicious sound. For the space of a few heartbeats, nothing mattered but the endorphins. Who knew (okay, Clint had more than suspected) how good their crashing together would feel? 

Clint anchored himself by clutching Coulson’s arms, feeling the man gulp air on the way back to coherence. The scent of their sex and sweat settled into Clint’s brain like a new sort of freedom. Coulson was a force to be reckoned with in everything. Would things have been this good if they’d done this ages ago? No. The fact that they’d been an unstoppable team for years, it added to whatever chemistry this was.

Clint was firmly in the middle of the sexuality spectrum. He could appreciate a soft, sweet breast as much as a pressing, hard cock. Coulson’s masculinity fitted over Clint’s prone, panting body better than anyone he’d been with in a while. He watched somewhat greedily the sight of Coulson lifting back onto his knees over him. The sight of those broad shoulders would probably do him in.

Clint dipped his fingers in the semen on his own belly. “Mmm, messy...”

Coulson gripped Clint’s wrist and brought it to his mouth to suck Clint’s messy fingers. Oh, hell yes. They had to do this again. Clint was already planning how.


	2. Casual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s just occasional, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These boys. I would say poor them, but I doubt either is suffering much.

“Here!”

They skidded into a rough alleyway, Clint’s body pinning Phil to the brick wall. Adrenaline buzzed between them. One of the international jewel thieves they’d been tracking had thought they knew Phil. So much for their covers. So much for an easy cooperative mission with the FBI.

Three sets of feet ran past, and Clint pulled Phil farther back into the alley, protecting his handler with his body as he so often did. Several breathless moments passed before the all-clear comm. built into Phil’s lapel beeped. Their lives were like a bad spy novel sometimes.

Clint sighed and relaxed against the wall. Unfortunately, Phil was between the wall and Clint, and their proximity made him feel a bit more of the archer than he was prepared for at the moment. In the year since Budapest, they’d stolen a few times together after missions. Nothing involved, mostly bleeding off the excitement. Phil wondered how Clint would respond to something quick now.

The younger man must be a mind reader. Clint looked at him and arched an eyebrow. He must have seen the permission in Phil’s face, because Phil suddenly had an extra tongue to contend with.

He licked in counterpart to Clint’s advance, yanking the man’s hips closer. Dirty making out in an alley was not something he’d have considered before Clint. At least not since his increasingly distant rebellious teen years. Now he wanted it more than he would admit.

Clint rubbed against him. They really shouldn’t, he thought, before he felt long fingers at his fly. His cock thought they really should. Clint licking at his neck was rapidly convincing him they could.

He gripped Clint’s hair, tipping the man’s head up for a moment. Seconds of eye contact contained a question and an answer. Clint’s expression went filthy as he unzipped Phil’s pants.

Phil almost felt detached as he watched Clint sink to his knees. Green eyes stayed on his until Clint crouched in front of him. The dry air of the alley was a jolt to Phil’s cock when Clint freed it. God, this was happening. A dirty blowjob in public. A dirty blowjob from Clint in an alley in the middle of the day. When had his life become a porno?

“Fucking gorgeous dick,” Clint murmured before licking a long trail along the shaft.

Phil shuddered. Not only was Clint an apparent fan of sucking cock, he was incredibly good at it. Phil felt like that teenager again; barely able to hold himself back as Clint sucked on just the head. He looked up with large green eyes, and Phil heard himself growl. Clint would probably be okay with a dick just fucking his mouth, but Phil chose not to. He looked down to where those lips stretched to take more of him and let Hawkeye choose the pace.

The slick power of Clint’s tongue had Phil scrabbling for grip on the brick behind him. Rather than jealousy over the archer’s past experience, Phil was greedy for the man’s practice that made this so good. He gasped when Clint licked over crown and ridge before taking him deep.

“Can’t use this to shut you up on comms,” he said. “Looks like it would be too much reward.”

Clint hummed, and Phil moaned. Nuisance of a man, he knew how good he was. Slowly he dragged his mouth off, making Phil almost whine with the sensation, then plunged forward and took Phil deep again.

Whatever Phil said wasn’t pretty, lost in his deep groan. Clint’s nose was nuzzled in the dark fabric of Phil’s still-buttoned waistband. He could barely imagine his cock completely down Clint Barton’s throat, was lost in the actual feel of it.

“I’m close,” he managed.

Clint smirked, actually smirked around his mouthful of cock. He drew halfway back and sucked, like he was going to draw the cum out. Phil lost it. He arched between the wall and Clint, another incoherent sound tearing out of him. He felt Clint swallow. All of it.

His breathing was rough for longer than expected. Then again, few actually expected Clint. The younger man was smug, sitting back on his heels and licking his lips. Phil wanted to lick them too. Taste that obscene shade of pink; maybe taste a remnant of himself.

Clint was tucking him back into his slacks, zipping up like he hadn’t just gleefully swallowed Phil’s semen in a nameless alley. The man had every right to be smug. “World’s Greatest” at more than one thing.

Phil pulled Clint to his feet and kissed him. He wanted as much contact as possible. Clint hummed in his mouth much as he’d hummed on his cock. Phil welcomed it, because Clint was just that sexy.

When they pulled apart, Clint was still smirking. “Race you to the safe house for round two?”


	3. House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domesticity for a few quiet hours in a safe house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone just might already be in love.

“You have three minutes, Barton.”

“I only need two, sir.”

Sure enough, slightly over two minutes later, the passenger door to Phil’s rented sedan clicked open and Hawkeye plopped into the seat. He wore the self-satisfied grin he always had after a successful sniper mission. He tossed his duffle bag with its collapsed rifle in the back seat.

“You’re wet,” Phil said.

“It’s raining,” Clint replied. “Golly, some of it must have fallen on me. Rain tends to do that.”

“You’re soaked.”

Clint shrugged. “My perch didn’t have much cover.”

Phil sighed. Clint had stationed himself motionless in the rain for hours? “Barton...”

“It was the best vantage, so I took it. I’m fine.”

Phil knew to choose his battles with the man. He started the car, letting Clint fiddle with the heater controls. Their safe house was nearby, and for once it had a decent shower. Phil knew it would be easy to coax Clint into warming up. The man was crazily indulgent about hot showers and baths.

Predictably, when they arrived, Clint made a beeline for the bathroom, shedding wet layers as he went. Phil rarely scolded him for the messiness. If Hawkeye pushed himself on missions, his handler could clean up after him.

Phil busied himself in the kitchenette. They both needed a real meal after two days’ stakeout. He sent the prearranged coded message of objective met, and received orders from headquarters that they would need to stay put in the little studio apartment for the next sixty hours. Not the worst post-mission wait by far. St. Louis was a much better town to hide in than many of the others they had over the years.

Phil contented himself with heating canned soup and listening to the rainfall outside and the shower in the other room. After nearly half an hour, he began to worry. Clint might be hedonistic, but he didn’t normally take this long. Setting the bowls of steaming soup on the tiny dining table, Phil went to check on his asset.

His knock on the bathroom door got no response. Carefully, because Hawkeye was dangerous even when unarmed, Phil pushed open the door to search for Clint.

The thin shower curtain was halfway open, pulled aside enough for Phil to see Clint standing in the corner of the stall, motionless. He might have been crying. Phil knew about adrenaline crash, about delayed trauma after missions, and he quickly took action.

“Barton,” he spoke gently as he tugged a towel from the nearby rack and moved to shut off the water. The response was a further slump to Clint’s shoulders. With deliberate motions, Phil extended the towel to wrap around the man. “Come on, hawk,” he murmured, “let’s get you dry.”

At the touch of the towel, Clint folded into Phil’s arms. His eyes were half closed and he stumbled when stepping out of the tub. It wasn’t the worst Phil had seen, not even the first time he’d seen Clint nude in a nonsexual way. Over the years, they had seen most of the worst of each other along with the best.

Phil let Clint from the bathroom, the scent of steam and soap giving way to the soup waiting for them. Phil imagined he heard Clint’s stomach rumble, and smiled a bit. He guided Clint to the small couch before searching for a blanket and dry clothes. The bedroom contained a small dresser of necessities. Phil brought out sweat pants and t-shirt along with a blanket for Clint.

Clint hadn’t moved except to clutch the edges of his towel together. He looked pale. Phil knelt in front of the man and gently helped Clint dry off. “Hey,” he said, waiting for Clint to meet his eyes, “will you tell me?”

Clint blinked for a moment. “Adrenaline crash,” he mumbled.

“Nothing else? No trauma you haven’t mentioned yet?”

“No. Just...feel slow.”

Efficiently, Phil helped Clint get dressed. “You can sleep in a while. Get some food first.” He brought the soup to Clint, steadying the bowl until the man could hold it himself.

They ate in silence after Phil brought his own meal and sat near Clint on the couch. The rain quieted and dripped uneven melodies on the gutters. Definitely not a bad downtime, Phil thought. He enjoyed Clint’s company. Maybe tomorrow they could get away with playing tourists. He hadn’t seen the Gateway Arch in years.

“Thanks,” Clint said when the soup was gone. “Best handler ever.”

“It’s my job.” Phil took their dishes to the sink.

Even at only average height for a man, Clint was too long for the couch, but he stretched out anyway, his heels hanging over one of the upholstered arms. He tucked the blanket over his torso. “Night-night,” he murmured, even though it was mid-morning. It was a thing, an inside joke between them.

“Sweet dreams,” Phil said, completing their private routine.

He began paperwork for the mission while Clint napped. It was familiar and comforting to hear Clint’s steady breath. As rare as this quiet was in their jobs, Phil savored it. SHIELD tended to take over one’s life, so Phil had learned to claim the moments he could for himself. Clint was learning to do the same.

Phil wondered if they would have sex this time. They did sometimes, in the inactive periods after missions. It wasn’t something regular, and it wasn’t something either of them pushed for. If it happened, it was good. Better than good. Sex with Clint was electric. But it was another unspoken thing between them. They weren’t dating. They weren’t fuck buddies or friends with benefits. They just...did, on occasion.

The afternoon was creeping on, and Phil needed a break. He found tea, honey, and lemon juice in the cupboard, and set about preparing some comfort drinks.

Clint roused awake just before the kettle whistled. He groggily smiled at Phil, who did not feel a certain fondness for comfortable, sleepy Clint Barton smiles. They sat at the dining table to sip their tea from clunky mugs. Phil ignored the incidental proximity of Clint’s bare feet to his own sock-clad toes under the table.

“I’ll do the dishes,” Clint volunteered when their tea was finished. “It’s the least I can do.”

“The least you can do to put off your paperwork.”

Clint grinned. “You know me: action is much more fun.”

“I know you all too well.”

If Phil saw any expression of fondness before Clint turned away to the sink, he pretended not to have noticed.

Clint did settle down to make his report before long. He wasn’t as bad at paperwork as people assumed. As an archer, he was phenomenal at applied mathematics -- trajectory, drag, gravity, velocity -- but he read slower than average due to a neglected formal education. His background still sometimes haunted him.

Then it was Phil’s turn to consolidate their two accounts into a third overall report. Carefully he went over Clint’s numbers because he was not so gifted at them as the world’s greatest marksman. Clint returned to the couch to search for decent programming from the outdated television. Occasionally he snarked at the actors on a soap opera.

When the early local news came on, Phil took another break for a shower. The scent of the shampoo they would be sharing for three days sparked something warm in his belly.

“We have pasta,” Clint announced when Phil emerged. He was rooting around in the kitchen for ingredients. “We don’t have sauce, but we have butter, and...aha! Oregano.” He waved the canister of dried herb at Phil.

“Have fun.” Phil left Clint to the cooking. The archer burned any meat he touched, but he did culinary wonders with carbs.

A closer tour of the apartment revealed a washer and dryer. Phil loaded what needed laundering and hung what couldn’t be. Whoever had arranged this safe house was thorough. They could easily hide for weeks here.

“Dinner!” Clint yelled, unnecessarily, from the kitchen. The smells had already beckoned.

Dinner was an herb and butter pasta miracle with more tea. Someday, Phil would get Clint to teach him that magic touch. Their bare feet bumped beneath the table maybe by accident as they ate.

“It sucks not being able to talk to anyone before we get back to base,” Clint said. “I kind of want to brag about my shot.”

Now that the data was in, Phil could agree. “That distance, in the rain? Yes, impressive. I don’t know how you still manage to surprise me with your accuracy.”

Clint looked bashful for a moment before switching to pride. “World’s greatest marksman was not all circus hype, you know.”

“It’s still a bit surreal, sometimes.”

Clint obviously appreciated the praise. He brought them beers dug out from the back of the fridge, and they settled on the couch to channel surf. When Clint produced a much better rendition of the song on American Idol, Phil let him veto the choice and they settled on a nature documentary instead. They agreed that lions were quintessentially silly cats as they watched the antics of a featured pride.

Clint yawned halfway through the zebra hunt. Phil urged the man to go to bed. He could tell Clint was preparing to argue, but then Phil’s secure-line cell phone rang. Clint said good night and told Phil to come sleep when he could. The senior agent might be occupied for a while.

Phil didn’t realize how time-consuming it was fixing a junior agent’s mistake from the field, until Clint padded back into the living room and frowned at him. Phil had been staring at the same half-written email for ten minutes.

“Sir, it’s two a.m. They can put Band-Aids on it until you get some sleep.” Clint shut Phil’s laptop on the coffee table and stood in the older man’s way. “You took care of me; I take care of you. Bed. Now.”

Phil let Clint pull him from the couch and down the short hallway. Maybe he was distracted by Clint’s bare chest and low-slung pajama pants. Clint had dimples on his lower back. “Barton, I--”

Clint stopped and looked at him. He was going to say he didn’t need Clint leading him around by the hand. He was going to joke about sharing a bed. He was going to thank Clint for caring. None of that came out because Clint was looking at him in the dark-softened hallway. Phil liked Clint’s eyes.

Clint moved, graceful and as leonine as the animals in the documentary, and Phil’s back was against the wall, mouth responding to Clint’s kiss. Phil had an instant of joy that they were doing this, before the sweep of Clint’s tongue stole his thoughts. He gripped Clint’s warm bare shoulder and opened for him.

He was too tired to care about taking more action. Phil let Clint lead where he wanted. The simple warmth of that golden skin made Phil’s groin ache. He urged Clint to anchor him bodily against the wall. The heat between them was nearly tangible.

Phil wasn’t sure which of them started toward the bedroom, but soon they stretched out on the bed, Phil slowly tasting along Clint’s chest. The middle of the night had a sort of magic, holding them in a time-free suspense where Clint could caress the movement of muscle along Phil’s back and sides. He shed his shirt to invite those wonderful hands to touch more.

“Phil,” Clint groaned when Phil licked over a nipple.

His name in Clint’s voice was almost too intimate. Phil crawled up Clint’s body to kiss him again. He knew without checking what he would find in the nightstand, so he took more time to enjoy Clint’s mouth. Their thing about always having supplies on a mission was mostly a joke, even if nearly all active SHIELD agents now kept lube and condoms in their field packs. Phil didn’t question it anymore. The lube had saved them in Bolivia eight months ago. It was going to see more conventional use now.

Leaving that delicious mouth briefly, Phil worked out of his pants. When he reached in the nightstand, Clint chuckled and squirmed out of the rest of his clothing as well. Clint took the lube as Phil offered it. When Phil knelt astride Clint’s thighs, Clint smiled.

“You need it?” Clint teased, using the lube on two fingers. He laid his other hand on Phil’s hip.

Phil squeezed Clint’s cock until the man gasped. He didn’t want a lot of talk tonight. He just wanted to ride Clint slow and hot. He did need it. He needed to feel that thickness inside and watch the responses of the other man.

Clint understood. His gentle finger slowly breached Phil’s body. Phil closed his eyes and simply felt. This man was far too good for him. A second finger quickly followed, and Phil looked down into Clint’s aroused eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” Clint whispered.

“So are you,” Phil replied, leaning down for a deep kiss.

Clint moved his fingers and tongue in complement. The slow slickness turned Phil’s mind to mush. He moved against Clint’s hand, shuddering when it brought their erections together in a warm slide. Phil gripped Clint’s hair and rode the man’s hand.

Soon the sensation was too much. “Need it,” he panted against Clint’s mouth and reached for a condom. Clint helped, and soon Phil was poised over a slippery, waiting cock.

“Oh, God,” Clint breathed when Phil slid onto him.

“Clint.” Phil held the man’s gaze and began to move.

The slow roll of their hips together became Phil’s world. Emotions and sensations flitted across Clint’s face as a gift for Phil’s sight only. He tried to show the same in return. The trust they’d built and the friendship they’d grown before falling into bed together made things all the more intense.

“You feel...” Phil braced his hands on Clint’s shoulders. “Fuck, you feel good. You’re thick.”

“And you’re tight. C’mon, ride me, Phil, you goddamn sex pro.” Clint gripped Phil’s dick, making Phil thrust between two warm parts of the man’s body.

They lost track of time again, nothing counting the moments but the slide of Clint inside Phil. Their breathing filled the air almost as sweetly as any of the endearments they never exchanged. Phil wanted it to last all night. But the limits of their anatomy soon caught up, and Phil lost rhythm for the same of urgency. He fucked down on Clint’s welcome hot invasion, grinning as he watched the man come undone.

Clint bit his lip and arched up hard. He squeezed Phil’s cock until Phil had no choice but to come. When he leaned in to nip at Clint’s neck, he pleasured in the man’s shout as Clint came beneath him.

Phil breathed heavily against Clint’s throat for a long suspended moment. Clint’s wonderful chest expanded and relaxed in a similar pattern. When his brainpower crept back, Phil decided he liked this contentment.

Eventually, Clint moved and took care of the condom. He wiped them both somewhat with his discarded pajama pants. “Sleep,” he mumbled, not letting go of Phil.

Phil was fine with following that order. He settled against Clint’s warmth and drifted off to the feel of Clint’s fingers in his hair.


	4. Tie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson’s competency. Clint’s kink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do a mission chapter and a non-sex chapter with banter, and this happened. Some of their missions have to be easy and fun. How else would they have the chance to develop such a style of banter?

Clint could safely say that undoing Coulson’s bound wrists with his teeth was actually something he wanted to repeat. Not in the context of kidnapping again, but...yeah. He’d have to figure out how to bring it up the next time the two of them and a bedroom were involved.

Coulson grunted when his hands were free. He’d been tossed into the cliche dungeon cell with Clint not more than ten minutes ago. The mooks had bound Coulson’s hands behind his back with his own tie. Amateurs. Clint was tied to a chair in the center of the room and was only waiting for his handler to show up. Escaping would be a cakewalk.

The men rolled eyes at each other when Coulson had been shoved into the cell. Without a word, Coulson backed up to Clint to have his bounds removed. Three minutes later, Clint was free as well. He stayed in the chair though while Coulson grinned.

“Didn’t even check my pockets,” Coulson muttered when he produced a tiny emergency beacon. He spoke the codes into it and set it to blinking. Transport would be there within the hour.

“This is almost a vacation,” Clint said. “I might even take a nap before the guard comes back. Be nice to be good and rested before we leave, for once.”

Their supposed baddies were far less than intel said. Some minor drug cartel thought a nosey tourist (Clint’s cover) and a nervous businessman (Coulson’s appearance) were worth some kind of ransom to the families the men had pretended to have and had squawked about when getting captured. Deliberately captured. The whole thing would be taken down in no time. Sometimes it was nice when things were easy.

“Any memes for this?” Coulson asked, leaning against the wall.

“Not yet,” Clint said. “The old Hollywood cliches have it covered so far. Two secret spies in a dank cell, easily escaping.”

“Suggestions to fill the time while we wait?”

Clint grinned. “I spy with my little eye, something that starts with R.”

“Rock.”

“No fair!” At the older man’s shrug, Clint laughed. “Fine, your turn.”

“I spy with my little eye, something that starts with S.”

“Coulson...”

“Guess, Barton.”

“Stone-cold smartass,” Clint said.

Coulson smirked. Clint was glad that no one else got to see this side of the senior agent. He leaned back in his chair, watching Coulson for a moment. The man still looked dangerously composed even in his scuffed suit with his tie off. Clint was sporting only a split lip and a bruised shin, and if nothing else, he was ridiculously happy to relax with one of his favorite people.

“We could just leave now,” Clint suggested.

“You said this was a vacation. Let’s wait for our hosts to return.”

“Mmm, well I’m too keyed up now for a nap. I spy with my little eye, something that starts with T.”

“Tie. Really, Barton?”

Clint laughed again. Their version of the game was to purposely come up with obvious things for the other to guess. Like when Clint and Natasha played Monopoly to see who could lose the fastest. It wasn’t about the game, but the company.

Half an hour into their game, the guard’s clopping steps were heard. Showtime, Clint thought. Coulson blended into the wall where he wouldn’t be visible when the door was opened, and Clint pretended to be still tied to the chair.

“Can I talk to the management about the room service here?” Clint quipped as the door began to swing open. “Definitely not giving this hotel five stars. Can I give you guys negative stars?”

The mook paused in the doorway, confused for the time it took Coulson to move. He had the large man incapacitated in seconds with a blow to the temple. Not even enough effort to wrinkle Coulson’s jacket.

Clint bounced out of the chair and took the weapon from the guard’s limp hand. The cliche ring of old keys went into Coulson’s possession. Nobody at HQ was going to believe the report on this. It was a bad spy novel.

They only encountered three people on their way out. Clint shot one in the knee before tying him up with the mook's own pants, Coulson did something to another with the keys that Clint had trouble believing he actually saw, and Coulson’s tie was sacrificed as a makeshift garrote for the third.

“You have to teach me that,” Clint said. “Also, hello new kink.”

Coulson rolled his eyes, but they were smiling in that unique sparkling shade of blue. It was no secret between them that Clint appreciated Coulson’s capability as a field agent. The handler returned the sentiment for Hawkeye’s skill.

The chop-chop of a helicopter nearby signaled their ride home. Glancing up to the growing black dot in the sky, Coulson said, “I almost think we should injure ourselves a bit more, to justify our pay for this op.”

“Nah, I don’t feel like breaking your nose again, sir. Just enjoy it.”

The men shared a grin before wandering out to meet their transport.


	5. Inebriation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lowered inhibitions lead to naughty offers and unexpected confessions.

Already it was a lousy day. Phil had intended to get some extra work done in the office on a Saturday, but his plans were superceded. A late-morning call from Fury himself changed things. There had been an incident in the Research and Development labs. Their experimental truth serum had contaminated a good portion of agents, all of whom needed babysitting until the effects wore off. The security risk was too great to allow anyone around unsupervised. Too many secrets lay in the minds of people with suddenly loosened tongues.

Agents as senior as Hill were affected. Fury assigned himself to watch her. The serum worked as a combination of alcohol and sodium pentathol, creating a double impact to dampen a person’s ability to contain their thoughts. Agents were speaking their internal monologues to anyone.

Fury sighed over the phone. “Go fetch your hawk, Coulson. You’re the only one with high enough security clearance and high enough Barton tolerance to watch him.”

Sometimes, Phil couldn’t understand why other people thought tolerating Clint Barton was this difficult thing. He wondered if he simply made more effort to understand the man. He worried if it affected his impartiality. But no. Even before they -- even before Budapest, they had simply clicked. Natasha understood Clint too, as did Hill, despite Hill’s and Clint’s personalities sometimes clashing. Hill and Fury related to each other much easier, which was probably why Fury chose to baby-sit the affected Hill.

Phil made his way to the lower research levels of SHIELD headquarters. He wondered why Research and Development thought they needed to design such chemicals. Phil preferred methods other than chemical in the job. Chemistry was too unpredictable in his opinion. It was only proven by this mishap.

Clint did appear intoxicated when Phil found him. He waited with one of the junior agents trained for potential information leaks like this, in the hallway outside the R&D department. Clint grinned widely when he saw Phil. The junior agent looked completely out of his element.

“Ha! I get the best babysitter,” Clint boasted. He was apparently a cheerful drunk.

Phil decided not to question Clint about loitering around work on the weekend. Sometimes the archer kept hours as long as Phil himself did. “Come along, Barton. You get to help me write the report on this incident, since you’re involved.”

Clint’s concept of personal space was different than others’. He practically leaned on Phil as they began the trip back to Phil’s office. “This stuff’s good,” he mumbled. “It’s like drinking, without the sourness.”

Phil was admittedly curious. Maybe the chemical had an alternate use. It at least had Clint happy. “Does it feel the same as drunkenness?” Phil asked. “It might come with a hangover, too.”

“Maybe.” Clint leaned against the wall as Phil unlocked his office. “But you can nurse me through it, sir.”

“I doubt you’d enjoy my usual hangover cure. It involves wheat germ and cola.”

Clint only grinned. “I meant we could play doctor.” He tried to leer, but Phil ignored him.

“Not while you’re drunk, Barton.”

Phil let them into his office, steering Clint to the small couch with a minimum of touching. He settled into his own office chair and retrieved a yellow legal pad to write down preliminary notes.

Clint was himself, if even more flirty. Phil chose not to wonder if Clint was this flirty on traditional alcohol. He was here to watch the archer, keep him safe while the chemical worked out of his system. Regular Clint innuendos were dangerous enough.

“Hey, remember that thing in Krakow three months ago?” Clint asked randomly. He’d slumped on the couch, tilting his head against the back. Phil watched the man’s throat work as he talked.

“What about it?”

Clint’s shrug rolled against the couch cushions. “Just randomly thought about it. It was really cool, right?”

Phil almost scoffed. “You would find exploding pastries cool, Barton.” He made a note on his legal pad of possible random memory association.

“Maybe it was more funny than cool. When that guy with the guitar came in...”

“I was there, Barton,” Phil interrupted because bursting into laughter seemed childish.

Clint aimed a goofy smile at the older man. “We get the best missions together, Phil.”

Phil hoped that his shirt collar hid the creep of heat traveling up his neck at the sound of his name. Clint didn’t normally use his first name on SHIELD property. It tended to slip out at unpredictable moments. At intimate moments.

“Aha, I know that blush,” Clint said in triumph. His tone went singsong, “I know what you’re thinking...”

Ignoring this kind of taunting was the best tactic. Phil refocused his attention on his work. Not rewarding Clint with even the slightest of eye rolls. It was unprofessional right now to think of an inebriated, flirty Clint as anything but a colleague. He ignored the sound as Clint shifted on the couch.

That might have been a tactical error. “I’m gonna tell you a secret,” Clint said while suddenly leaning over Phil’s desk. Damn, the man could move like a panther sometimes. “I really like the sex.” Phil’s shock must have shown, because Clint looked a bit sobered and glanced away. “It’s nice, is all.”

They had never overtly discussed it. Now was not good, with Clint affected as he was. He probably wouldn’t bring it up otherwise. It wasn’t how either of them operated.

To prevent future regret, Phil opted for sarcasm. “If it was just nice, I doubt we would keep doing it.” There. He acknowledged the elephant in their relationship but left Clint an out.

A slow, dirty grin slid over Clint’s face. “I knew you liked it.”

Finally, Phil gave in and rolled his eyes. “You know I do.” How could he rationally not like sex with Clint?

“Mmm. It’s...nice, getting you off.”

Phil sighed. “We are on company property, and you are compromised, Barton.”

“So if I wasn’t under the influence, I could keep draping myself over your desk?”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Spoilsport. How did you cope before you had me to liven your life?”

“A lot more quietly.” Phil made shooing motions. “Could you remove yourself? I was trying to find a pattern in-”

“Let me blow you.”

“No, Barton.”

With an overdramatic pout, Clint slumped into the spare office chair. “You sure this is just a truth serum, and not an afro- affer-”

“Aphrodisiac. It could be both.”

“Then if we don’t have sex, I could die! You can’t have that guilt, while my horny ghost haunts you forever.”

“If you think the phrase ‘horny ghost’ will seduce me, you are more gone than R&D suspected.”

“What will seduce you?”

This was past uncomfortable. Phil set his pen down and looked at Clint. “Why are you obsessing about this?”

Clint looked like the answer was pulled out of him. “I think about it a lot.”

Phil blinked at the other man for a bit. “If you’re so lacking,” and wow, this was a bizarre discussion, “I’m sure you can easily find someone when this serum wears off.” Because Phil had never expected anything like exclusivity. That wasn’t what they did. “You surely have no shortage of options...”

“No, I can’t. And no, I don’t.”

“What?”

“I know what the gossip says about me,” Clint said, “but you should know better than to believe that.” He paused, looking pained, and Phil wished the topic had never come up. “I can’t just go...find someone, because there is a shortage of...options.” He looked away. “There are no options, really.”

Was Clint actually admitting that he’d been monogamous? “Barton...you can’t...” he licked his lips and tried again, “you can’t tell me there’s been no one...”

“I just did. No one since Budapest.”

Phil stared while his mind tried to reboot. The first instinctual part of him was possessively happy. The fact that he hadn’t required or expected it made it better. Phil himself had found no one as fulfilling as Clint, either. He stared at the pattern of hair over Clint’s brow as the man continued to look down at his lap. Whatever had tilted them over the edge in that tiny Hungarian hotel room had become this.

He felt Clint deserved to know he’d been exclusive too. Phil cleared his throat. “Same here. No one else since Budapest.”

Clint looked up, and god, those eyes. How did he look so young? So...beguiling? Phil realized he’d been lost for years.

“What does that make us?” Clint asked, voice subdued.

“I don’t know what it makes us.”

They held gazes for an extended moment. Whatever cliche said men were emotionally stunted was apt with them. But what did they do with coincidental fidelity?

Clint worked his mouth silently before finding voice, “I want to stay with SHIELD,” he said, “and I want to stay with you. Can we leave it at that? Do we have to change anything?”

Phil didn’t want to change anything. “I think we can,” he said. “It hasn’t harmed anything.”

“We still do kick ass on all of our missions,” Clint said with more of his customary grin. “And if we do other things with our asses...”

Phil exhaled sharply. He did not sigh. “Not the time or place, Barton.”

Clint shrugged. “So you don’t want me to use your tie as-”

“No, Barton.”

“Fine. I’ll just keep my awesome idea to myself.”

Clint snatched some blank paper from Phil’s printer and a pen from the cup at the corner of the desk. He moved back to the couch and used his knee as an impractical writing surface. Being a visual person, Clint often sketched out ideas for his equipment design. If only R&D would stick to uniforms and weaponry, instead of bizarre chemistry. If he were sketching whatever idea he had for Phil’s tie, well, then Phil would have to confiscate that.

Still buzzing from Clint’s admission, Phil checked his email on autopilot. It felt nice to have the knowledge. Whatever they had between them was significant enough that they both preferred each other to anyone else. And Clint wanted to keep it. Not that Phil was a terrible catch, but they honestly were in different leagues.

Mentally kicking himself, Phil refocused on his work. He and Hawkeye were a unique pair. If they ever stopped being so good together, they should both be adult enough to deal with it. Status quo was Clint’s preference, and Phil could agree to that.

The quiet could last only so long if Clint was around. “You think I wouldn’t want you just the same if I was sober? We’ve been fucking for how many years, and you still think I don’t want you?”

Phil stared flatly at the other man for a moment. “That’s your internal monologue right now?”

“Well, you keep rejecting me.”

“I’m trying to maintain some propriety in the office.”

Clint huffed air out his nose. “When have we ever -- since Budapest, dammit -- when have we done things properly?”

“Barton, I can’t follow your logic, here. You went from flirting, to telling me you were monogamous, to thinking I don’t want you?”

“I don’t have any logic!” Clint ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “But you keep -- and I --”

“I keep declining you because I don’t know the extent your capacity for consent is affected. Do you really think you can convince me, in this office, in the middle of headquarters, if you just stay persistent?”

A groaning noise rolled out of Clint as he rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I don’t know if it’s the damn chemical stuff, or me, but my thoughts won’t stop cycling over and over that one thing.”

Phil considered this. “Like your mind is stuck in repeat?”

“Pretty much.” Clint leaned back into the couch. “Then I can’t keep from actually saying those thoughts. Is this what OCD feels like?”

Phil clenched his teeth briefly. His Clint being so off-kilter like this was unacceptable. “I am strongly suggesting to R&D that they not use this chemical again.”

Clint lifted his head to grin at Phil. “You mean suggesting the wrath of Coulson if they use it again. That’s even better than threatening their jobs.”

Only around Clint would Phil allow someone to see his good-natured eye roll. “I don’t know how my reputation ended up that I’m some sort of-”

“Ninja, Phil. You’re a goddamn awesome ninja.”

“I still can’t understand how it happened.”

Clint only grinned wider and leaned into the couch cushions yet again, posture slumped and calm. Phil considered his next thought. He shouldn’t act on it, because things with Clint tended to expand out of hand in no time. But some kind of action seemed necessary.

Decision made swiftly, Phil moved from his seat to crouch near Clint in front of the sofa. The archer met his eyes with a questioning look. Phil kissed Clint gently, a soft press of lips. Internally he smiled at Clint’s exhale of surprise. He liked kissing Clint, liked the range of kisses from tender to demanding. Their first clash of mouths in Budapest had led to so many other kisses over the years since, and Phil treasured them all. Clint’s mouth could be a menace over the comms, or even in bed, but kissing him was so very good.

Phil pulled away enough to meet Clint’s gaze. Those green eyes were a danger sometimes. They were slightly dilated, the sure giveaway that Clint was turned on. They were also confused.

“I know you want me,” Phil murmured. “Just hold off right now, okay?”

Clint blinked, murmured, “Okay,” in response, and Phil kissed him one last swift time as reward for the way the archer’s warm breath felt on his own lips.

They spent their morning companionably then, Phil managing various backlogs of work and Clint sketching a bit more before napping on the sofa. He woke shortly before noon, terribly hungry, and claiming the mystery chemical was gone. Phil rewarded the follow-up trip to medical with lunch at a tiny Indian restaurant. He even allowed Clint to play a little footsie as they ate. They didn’t discuss their earlier argument. Phil would leave Clint to process his influenced thoughts first. He certainly needed to process his own for a bit.


	6. Devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re trapped in a cave! Huddling for warmth!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don’t do well with missionfic, but I wanted to do another chapter where they are emotionally close. How better to do that than to injure one of them and throw in some cuddling in the cold?

“That was excessively manly.”

Phil kept from rolling his eyes only out of long practice. “You’re supposed to act aggressively when you encounter a mountain lion.”

“Dude, you frightened away a cougar. That’s badass even for you.”

Settling beside Clint on the cold cave ground, Phil reassessed the archer’s injuries. Torn rotator cuff at the very least, shoulder not dislocated, but probably much worse muscle damage, so Hawkeye was virtually useless drawing his bow. Probable bruised ribs. Twisted ankle. A long gash on the thigh, still bleeding sluggishly. They’d lost most of their provisions on this screw up of a mission somewhere in southern Canada. In February. Phil was in better shape, but he suspected his own ankle was more than twisted and would hurt like hell once the adrenaline wore off.

“Stop it,” Clint said, swatting at Phil with his good arm. “No concussion, okay?” He blinked at the older man in a parody of fluttering eyelashes.

Sighing, Phil began arranging their coats to guard them both against the cold. They were unable to make a fire, which made hypothermia the biggest concern. “I’ve sent the emergency beacon, but it could take hours for a response,” Phil said. “Our priority is to stay warm.”

“I know the protocol. Come on, then. Hold me, big guy.” Clint shifted until their bodies sat as close as possible. When Phil slid an arm around Clint, the archer nudged his head against the other’s shoulder. “Hi.”

Phil couldn’t help smiling. “Hi. I think my ankle is worse off than yours is, so we won’t be able to move much for warmth.”

“Cuddling in a dark cave in the Canadian wilderness,” Clint said. “So romantic.”

“It is close to Valentine’s Day.”

Clint’s laughter cut off in a pained cough. He pressed into Phil’s side. “Still better than Bolivia.”

Because no one else was there, Phil allowed himself a repulsed shudder. “I was never squeamish before that, but the sepsis...”

“You did keep all your toes, though.”

“Thanks to you.”

Clint’s grin was audible. “We’re awesome together. Hey, remember when that thing did the stuff with your thing?”

“Use better verbs and nouns, Barton.”

“I’ll verb your noun.”

Phil kept from laughing by major force of will. He knew Clint could tell anyway. “Keep talking. We shouldn’t fall asleep in this cold.”

Clint tugged at the heavy parka covering them. “You’re the only one who encourages me to talk.”

“Because I know why you do it. And I know you can be quiet when it’s necessary.”

“You know me the best, sir. You understand how big it is to trust someone.”

Phil squeezed the other man’s arm. When Clint rested his head against Phil’s shoulder, Phil could feel the man’s breath. “Our situation is not dire enough to bring out the heartfelt compliments.”

“Not yet.” Clint’s nose nuzzling against Phil’s neck was cold. “But realistically, I’m not in good shape. Forgive me if a few things slip out.”

Phil nodded gently. He couldn’t do Clint the dishonor of not returning that vulnerability. “You mean more to me than anyone, your trust included,” he said. “Fighting off a cougar is a small favor.”

“Thank you,” Clint murmured, “and I know. Is why I took that chance to recruit Natasha.”

Phil knew that too. It was Clint’s way of saying he would feel and trust the same no matter their situation. If the recruitment of Black Widow had failed, if they’d never started sleeping together, if anything, Clint and Phil did things for each other.

Realistically, they were in a bad situation. A few hours at night in this cold without ability to make a fire was not good by any definition. Clint was colder from blood loss. Phil wasn’t a miracle worker with first aid, either. So he held Clint close, giving what he could because he always did.

The cave was small, more of an indentation in the rocky hillside, but it blocked some of the cold night air. They weren’t wet either, which was a small miracle. They would make it. It was easy to imagine much worse life-threatening scenarios, and Phil told himself several times not to, as his eyes followed the growth of scrubby grass falling along the overhang a few feet above them.

“Is that why you jumped off the mountain this afternoon?” Phil asked. “Because I care about your health?”

Clint groaned. “Coulson, I would jump off a mountain for anyone at SHIELD.”

“But you did it for me today.”

Clint’s sigh was jittery while the rest of him refused to shiver. “Because you were there today. And you caught me.”

“Not before the damage was done.”

“Don’t you fucking blame yourself for my injuries, Phil Coulson.” As he tried to sit up to face Phil, Clint winced. “Fuck. I can’t feel my feet.”

Cursing, Phil tried massaging Clint’s legs. The only effect was violent shivers, which aggravated Clint’s pain. Phil raged at the situation. He didn’t even have proper bandages, or food and water to treat Clint’s evident shock. He bundled them in their heavy clothes again, wrapping his body behind Clint’s.

“Stay with me,” Phil said against the man’s neck.

“’M tryin’,” Clint slurred. He was too pale in the weak moonlight. He’d stopped shivering. That was bad. “Shouldn’t be happenin’ this fast...”

“Barton.”

“Don’t let go.”

“Never, Clint.”

At some suspended point, Clint stopped responding. Whether from the loss of blood, shock, or hypothermia, he slid away from consciousness. Phil held him. He whispered more than a few prayers into the frigid night.

 

\- - - - - 

 

The warmth wasn’t what woke him. The lack of pain wasn’t, either. Phil swam back to wakefulness at the sound of someone murmuring nearby. When he recognized it, he identified Natasha.

“And Coulson’s awake,” she said. “That’s another thing he’s beaten you to, brat.”

She was muttering to Clint. An unconscious Clint lay in the neighboring medical bed. Carefully, Phil sat up to see them. Natasha caught his eyes and frowned. Clint did not look well. Bruising darkened the bridge of his nose and beneath his eyes. Bright white bandages peeked from beneath the sheets. The beep of his heart monitor framed each moment in the silent room.

“Infection,” Natasha said. “They’re keeping him under for a few days.”

Phil sighed. “I spend too much time here because of him.”

“He would be here even more if you were less good at your jobs.” She regarded Phil for a moment. “I want to read the mission report for this.”

“We’re both dumbasses who lost most of our provisions,” Phil said. “There. Report done.”

Natasha snorted. “Sounds like a Barton report. He’s a bad influence on you.”

“He can continue to be a bad influence as long as he’s up to do so.” Phil inspected his ankle. Hard cast. Broken. Lovely.

“The response team said you two were wrapped around each other,” Natasha said, coming to sit next to Phil on his bed. “I know it was to conserve heat, but you know how the rumor mill will take it.”

A snort blended with a laugh in Phil’s throat. “There were sweeping, romantic declarations of love,” he said, sarcasm dry as a stone.

The grin tugged further at Natasha’s lips. “I know you two-”

“Romanoff, you knew before you returned to the hotel in Budapest. I wouldn’t insult your intelligence to assume you don’t know about Barton and me.”

Natasha regarded her bright red fingernails for a moment. “I don’t know everything,” she said. “If there were declarations...”

“You mean if we are doing anything besides sleeping together.” When Natasha didn’t look at him, Phil studied her profile. “I care,” he said finally. “I’m still trying to figure out how much.”

Natasha sighed. “You’ve known him longer. I have no claim on him as a big sister, or even as a coworker.” She turned her hands palms up. “Yet...”

Phil glanced over at the man lying pale in the medical bed. “I think with Barton, it’s all or nothing. Either you can’t stand him, or you want him to have the world.”

Natasha nodded. “How was he at first, for you?”

It was Phil’s turn to study his hands. “He came in like a storm. I was used to the eye of a hurricane, but he...swept me away and we made our own anchor together.” He looked at Natasha. “When you came in, we became a port in that storm, which is better than an anchor.”

“You’ve lost your footing with him in a different way now.”

“To extend the nautical metaphor, yes. Budapest was like capsizing. We’re trying to find our buoyancy together again.”

The woman’s stillness beside him meant Natasha was processing things. When she moved, she fixed Phil with one of her Widow looks. “Be his anchor,” she said.

Phil nodded. He didn’t trust any of his own words.

Graceful like a predator, Natasha crossed the room to Clint’s bed. “Get well, hawkling,” she said. “He is waiting, and worrying.” She left the room with a fond look toward Phil.

Well. Phil counted the beeps of the heart monitor for a while. He imagined his own pulse synching with Clint’s.


	7. Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson ponders his feelings.

He came in like a storm.

The whirlwind that was usually Clint Barton was unusually calm. He was supposed to wake up soon, once the sedative wore off. Two days under gave him just enough time to fight off the infection that had developed after his latest mission. Natasha spent most of those two days harassing Fury about not giving her boys missions on their own anymore, since clearly they needed her to keep them safe. Phil agreed. Their three-pronged team was better as three. Fury might throw up his hands in exasperation, but he knew it too.

Phil spent a lot of those two days lounging in medical himself. A broken ankle and hypothermia freed him from most of his guilt for slacking off. The excuse was also handy enough to allow him more time to watch over Clint.

Some of the man’s bruising had faded as Clint responded to antibiotics. Phil still wanted his usual person back. Even the intense, focused Hawkeye in professional mode was welcome instead of this still, pale Clint in the hospital bed. Earlier, as a minion (Clint’s term) dropped off Phil’s paperwork, her comment about the archer’s bounciness had him missing it. Clint was fresh energy to Phil’s calm sturdiness.

Two days without Clint’s irreverence had Phil turning too introspective. He cared. He’d told Natasha so. He’d cared from when they’d met. The kind of caring was changing, but Phil had always been soft for Clint. Closeness, understanding, it was a connection agents all hoped to find. Clint didn’t chase away other handlers, so much as not click with them. When mission success jumped after pairing with Phil, Clint had told Fury he wanted only Coulson as handler. (Phil wasn’t supposed to know that.) Because Hawkeye was just that good, Fury obliged.

A large reason Nick Fury was so good a leader was his ability to see when people clicked together. Fury called it a kind of faith. He knew how to use camaraderie to draw out the strengths in people. “Nobody fights harder than for someone they care about,” was the Director’s reason.

So, caring wasn’t a liability to Phil. If caring so specially about Clint meant outlandish rumors at the office, no actual bile was behind them. Half the rumors at SHIELD were about Clint and Natasha, or about Nick and Maria.

This protectiveness and concern for Clint weren’t new, either. It was the kind of protectiveness that had changed. Phil was figuring out what to do with that.

He sighed. Watching Clint sleep had become a comfort at some point. The man looked both older and younger in his sleep. On ops, Clint was a wiser version of himself, alert even while unconscious. Lines etched from harsh living testified to the man’s strength. During downtime, Clint was younger, though not free of harshness. The nightmares surfaced more on nights spent in safe houses.

Phil supposed their sleeping together was more about trust than about desire. The fucking was another kinship. Not to mention extremely hot, and not something Phil should question.

Phil was far too contemplative without Clint awake to distract him. He would fit in well to a Gothic novel sometimes if he got carried away.

“My guardian angel.”

Phil looked over at the gravelly voice. Clint was finally awake. A smile slipped out despite Phil telling it not to. “I haven’t prayed in years,” he said. “Don’t make me take up the habit again, Barton.”

Clint looked sleepy and adorable despite the bandages and the hospital gown. “You have a green halo,” he said. “That means I was in a chemical coma. How long was I out?”

“A couple of days. You had an infection.”

“Aww, you waited by my side.”

Phil indicated the cast on his foot. “Hard to go far.”

Clint blinked slowly. “Thanks anyway.”

“Anytime,” Phil said, meaning it even more than he had before.


	8. Tender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson needs to let go after a rough mission. He lets Clint take charge for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am no expert at the D/s dynamic, so I hope I handled things with their proper respect. The bondage and D/s in this chapter is really mild, though, so it might not even count.

“Go collect your handler, Barton. Somehow, you have a better knack for dealing with him when he’s like this.”

Clint did a double take at Fury’s rather somber order. For one, he hadn’t known Coulson was back from his mission. For another, Director Nick Fury was rarely so quietly resolved. “Something went FUBAR?” Clint asked.

Fury nodded. “He always takes it hard when he loses people.”

Clint shifted his weight to one foot and focused on the opposite wall for a moment. “But this time it’s different?”

“He’s clammed up.” Fury, of all people, seemed concerned. “Cheese won’t even talk to Marcus.”

Clint knew the code names for Coulson and Fury’s old friendship. It was serious if Coulson wasn’t talking. “And you think I could do anything when Marcus can’t?”

A dark eye fixed on Clint. “Different friends fill different needs,” Fury said, sounding excessively philosophical. It was a strange conversation, even for the vacant hallways of SHIELD at nine in the evening. Clint was headed home after a late consultation about upgrading his gear, and had seen possibly half a dozen people still around.

“What need do you think I could fill, sir?”

“You fit under Coulson’s skin in a way I never did,” was Fury’s cryptic answer. “That’s a good thing, Barton.”

Clint sighed. “Where is he?”

“Shooting range. Video monitors say he’s stopped target practice and is repeatedly disassembling his weapon.”

Clint frowned. “That’s bad. What the hell happened on his mission?”

“Can’t tell you details.” Fury focused on a point beyond Clint’s shoulder. “We lost Albright.”

“Damn,” Clint said on a sharp exhale. “She just made Level 4.”

“She was a good kid.” Fury refocused on Clint. “You don’t need to get the whole story, just...get Phil back from that place he’s punishing himself.”

Clint nodded. It was gratifying to see these moments when Fury cared. As hardass as he had to be, the man was lion-hearted after all, Nick Fury was as loyal to his underlings as he expected them to be to SHIELD. As much loyalty as he demanded, he returned.

Coulson was indeed in one of the shooting range’s stalls, slowly and methodically tending his standard-issue firearm. Clint could see the man’s pain in the pinch around his eyes and mouth. A quick visual inventory didn’t reveal any physical injuries, which Clint was always glad for. The non-physical was what had Fury worried.

The senior agent was sans tie and jacket; shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. Various smears looked more artful than the dirty results of a bad mission. To anyone who bought the bland persona Coulson cultivated, the man was simply putting in a late night. To Clint, Coulson was ragged.

Clint cleared his throat. He kept his voice low. “I heard about Albright.”

Coulson glanced up, and for an instant Clint saw the man’s pure pain. Then his expression shuttered. He snapped the clip back into his weapon, the sound unnaturally loud this late at night.

That would not do. Knowing he was one of less than a handful of people who could do so, Clint stepped close and took the gun from Coulson’s hands. “Time to quit, Phil. Marcus found me with orders to get you out of here.”

“Bastard,” Phil muttered. It was Phil now, not Coulson. He let Clint guide him away from the stall.

“Time for all cranky agents to go home,” Clint said as he checked the handgun back into storage.

Phil was delivering a rather pouty silent treatment. Clint would have laughed at it another time. He located Phil’s tie and jacket dropped on a nearby table, then steered the older man out of the room.

Fury was gone, apparently trusting Clint enough to this task. Briefly Clint wondered what Fury knew of his agents’ closeness. He didn’t think Fury knew they were fucking, but then again, mega spy director of a mega spy organization. Clint didn’t much care. The whole world could know, and Clint would only brag about how good his Phil Coulson was in bed.

Clint decided to go to his place. The home advantage should at least give him a chance to get Phil to rest. Food, comfort, sleep. Simple agenda. Phil could share about the mission in his own time, but Clint was not leaving the man to it alone.

He could tell Phil was near the end of his energy. Sleep first, then. Clint had a decent couch, or if Phil didn’t fight him, an even better bed. He deliberately did not think about this being the first time Phil had been to his apartment.

The apartment was modest but well cared for and comfortable. Clint’s pay was decent enough for him to hire a cleaning service for when he was gone on longer assignments. Coming back from the ass-end of some country was tough enough without coming home to a refrigerator full of rotten food. It wasn’t much more than a studio, but the open kitchen/living room made it feel roomy.

“Barton...” Phil began in his lecturing voice.

“No,” Clint interrupted. “You’re punishing yourself, and I’m not letting you wallow too deep. Rest, then maybe a shower and some food. Then you can tell me about it if you want.”

“Tell you about it!” Phil snapped.

Even after knowing the man for years, Clint still underestimated Phil’s skill. He was pinned against the wall much like a repeat of Budapest. The only thing keeping Clint from fighting back was the haunted look in Phil’s eyes.

“She goddamn died in my arms,” Phil growled. “I’m wallowing?”

Clint tried to keep his own voice calm. “You know beating yourself up won’t help...”

“You’re my counselor now?” Something glinted in Phil’s eyes. He pressed his body harder into Clint’s. “Maybe it’s time for some sex therapy...”

Phil was on him before Clint could breathe. Mouth taking, hands groping. Clint’s black leather jacket hit the floor in two seconds flat. For several moments, Clint reveled in the strong press of Phil’s body. The man turned him on like no one else.

At the stroke of warm fingers beneath his t-shirt, Clint put a stop to things. He gripped Phil’s wrists and turned them until Phil was anchored against the wall. Pushing away form the older man’s eager body was difficult, but Clint was not letting this get out of hand. He met Phil’s glare and simply held him pinned by the wrists against the wall for a time. Phil was hurting. There had to be some way Clint could help.

Like an epiphany, it came. Not exactly expert therapy, but... Phil needed to not think for a while. Sex therapy wasn’t far off, but more important was taking a burden off of Phil. He needed to rely on someone else for a while.

“This is not what you need,” he told Phil.

“Oh, and what do I need?” The question was filled with venom. Phil was tensed against Clint’s grip but not yet poised to move against him.

Clint stayed calm. “You need to not be the senior agent for a while. You need to not be in charge.”

“I’m always in charge.”

It sounded like a terrible burden. Did no one give when the legendary Agent Coulson needed? He was always on top of his game. When was Phil’s downtime?

“Then let me be in charge for a change,” Clint said.

Phil’s eyes went piercing, searching. Clint let the man search. What he offered wasn’t for everyone. It had been years since Clint had felt the need, himself. But if he could give this to Phil and help him, he would.

Phil relaxed slightly in Clint’s grip. “How does it work?”

Clint let himself smile a little. “In the bedroom, for starters.” He guided Phil, careful to let his body language be in charge but non-threatening.

The queen-sized bed was almost too large for the room. For once Clint was glad he hadn’t made his bed that morning. It was easy to pull the covers to the foot of the bed so only the crisp white fitted sheet lay waiting for them.

Clint brought Phil’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “Get undressed and lay on your back.”

A man Phil’s age should not look so lost. “Then what?”

“Then wait. Try not to think so much. You know I won’t hurt you.”

It was rather endearing how hesitant Phil suddenly was. Clint made himself seem busy at the nightstand to give Phil some relief from scrutiny. Aside from lube and condoms, they would need one other prop, and Clint felt a rush of anticipation. If this went well, it would be so good.

“Okay,” came Phil’s soft voice.

The man was gorgeous, laid out on Clint’s sheets. Clint indulged in looking. He wondered briefly how he was lucky enough to have this, have Phil Coulson in his bed. Clint knew what that body could do and how it felt under his fingers. While Clint knew he had good things going for him, he also marveled that someone like Phil wanted him. It made Clint want to claim the man, treasure him, maybe leave his mark on him.

Clint held up what he’d found in his nightstand drawer for Phil to see: sturdy leather handcuffs with metal buckles. “If you’re willing?”

Phil blinked. “If I’m willing?” he echoed. “You’re in charge...”

This whole Phil being endearing thing should not be such a kink. Clint sat on the bed next to Phil’s hip. “But you do have control,” he explained. “Green for ‘keep going,’ yellow for ‘slow down,’ and red for ‘stop,’ okay? And I will be in charge, but you can say no.” He leaned down and kissed Phil gently. “Do you really not know how Dom/sub works?”

“I-” and Phil actually blushed.

Taking Phil’s hand again, Clint kissed the wrist. “Let me show you,” he murmured, trying to be as vulnerable as Phil in this moment. Let me give you this, he wanted to say. He wanted to help ease the burden on Phil’s shoulders.

Phil laid a finger on the black leather of the cuffs. “Headboard, I assume?”

Clint’s headboard was a sturdy wooden lattice, painted copper. He was rather fond of it. “You’d be gorgeous cuffed to my headboard.”

Phil licked his lips, visibly deciding. He held his hands out for Clint. “Green.”

His smile was probably far too wide, but Clint felt so much at Phil’s agreement. With all the care he could, Clint secured one cuff around Phil’s left wrist before gently urging the man’s arms into place. He decided that bent at the elbow and relaxing against the bed frame was best. If this was Phil’s first time, it should be easy for him. He kissed Phil’s fingers once the cuffs were secured.

“I was right,” Clint said. “Gorgeous.”

Phil was visibly trying not to fidget. “I trust you,” he said.

Clint laid a hand over Phil’s sternum. “I treasure that trust.” He kept his hand warm and solid as reassurance on Phil’s body as he spoke, “Okay, some rules. Call me sir. Ask for things. Remember you can tell me to stop, though I won’t get too intense, I hope.”

Phil nodded, obviously waiting. Gently, Clint smiled. He started with careful touches along Phil’s chest. The light cover of chest hair made his palm tingle. He hoped he could help Phil forget for a while. He wasn’t sure if he could get Phil into subspace, but something told Clint that this would help regardless.

“Is there anything you want?” Clint asked, trying to make this start easily.

“Will you be naked?” Phil paused. “Sir?”

Clint smiled. “Gotta see my fine self, hmm?” He stood and began pulling off his black t-shirt. “Be sure you keep watching.”

He noted Phil’s eyes darken as he undressed. Something about Phil letting show how he appreciated Clint’s body was a big turn on. Phil himself was only half-hard, but there was time to fix that.

When he was nude, Clint sat on the bed again. He rested his hand on Phil’s stomach. “Your job is to take,” he said. “All you need to worry about is pleasing me.”

“What will please you, sir?”

Oh, he liked how quickly Phil was learning this. “It will please me to make you feel good. Ultimately, I hope to take you down until all you can think is when I’ll let you come. I’ll touch you, and watch for how it makes you feel.” He trailed fingers over Phil’s lengthening cock. “You don’t have to beg, but it would be beautiful if you did.”

Phil clearly bit back a shudder. “I don’t know if I can do that,” he confessed.

Clint leaned in and kissed him. “All you have to do is let go. Let me give you some time to not be in charge.” He stroked along Phil’s thigh. “It’s been years since I did any Dom stuff, so I may mess up too, but we know the words, right?”

“Yes,” Phil licked his lips, “sir. Green.”

Clint didn’t care how goofy his smile might be. “Do you know how sexy you are?” he asked, eyes trailing over Phil’s body. “All laid out and waiting...”

He gauged Phil’s response as he teased the man’s nipples. Phil shifted into the touch, gasping when Clint pinched lightly. Maybe Clint was taking advantage of his knowledge of what Phil liked, but he supposed that was his prerogative. Reclining on his side next to Phil, Clint began nuzzling and kissing those lovely nipples.

Clint kept up a monologue, partly to distract Phil but also to help arouse him further. “You know what I like most? How all this is hidden by your perfect suits, but every so often we get to see what you really are.” He slid his hand from Phil’s collarbone to his navel. “And all this is mine. Only mine, since-”

“Since Budapest.”

It was a vow of sorts. A promise of sorts. Clint kissed Phil again, languidly beginning to stroke the man’s cock. Phil gasped and somehow asked with his kiss for more. Clint drew back a bit to nip at Phil’s lips. He curled his thumb over the head of Phil’s now fully hard cock.

Phil groaned into the kiss, the strong lines of his body moving into Clint’s touch. And Clint couldn’t get enough of touching this man. Flicking his tongue along Phil’s jaw, he watched his own hand on the other man’s cock. It really was gorgeous, rather longer than average, though not quite as thick as Clint’s was. He recalled Phil enjoying that thickness and savored the roll of arousal down his spine.

Clint nibbled the tendons on Phil’s neck, stroking the man’s cock until Phil moaned. “You like that? I know what makes you vocal.” He breathed in Phil’s ear, “I can’t decide whether to tease your hole or ride you.” He slid light touches down over Phil’s balls. “You’re so quiet. Don’t have an opinion?”

“You seem to be filling the quiet with your own opinions...”

Clint pinched the skin over Phil’s ribs, making the man jump. “I’ve decided you don’t get to sass back.”

“...Fine.”

“Fine, what?”

Phil barely paused. “Fine, sir. I won’t sass back, sir.”

Clint chuckled. “You really are being good. I think it’s time to increase the intensity.”

Retrieving the lube, Clint used enough to ease the caresses on Phil’s balls. When he felt Phil relax and spread his legs slightly, Clint moved to flick an index finger over Phil’s hole. Phil’s gasp was a beautiful start. Clint pushed a finger in deep in one slick motion, grinning as Phil jerked, the cuffs thunking on the headboard.

For a while he focused on that single finger and its movements inside Phil. He ruthlessly teased over Phil’s prostate, wickedly enjoying the man’s attempts at grinding his hips for more.

“Good boy,” Clint purred. “Take some more...” He pushed a second finger inside.

Phil’s low moan filled the air. The cuffs rattled again as he tried to reach for Clint. Clint grinned and kissed Phil’s inner thigh. He knew that by now he would probably be stretched beneath Phil on the bed, because the older man was not patient when it came to this sort of teasing. While Clint loved the way Phil manhandled him, the light restraint made a nice change. He nibbled along Phil’s thighs and stomach, purposely avoiding the man’s beautifully straining cock.

“Please,” Phil gasped.

“Please, what?”

“Please, sir...suck me?”

Clint couldn’t begin to say how sexy that was. He draped over Phil to give the man a deep kiss. “You’re being so good, I think you deserve the reward.”

Clint kissed his way back down Phil’s body, pausing to lavish attention on areas that drew the best responses. Each of Phil’s gasps and moans was like a bolt right to Clint’s arousal.

“Such a good boy,” he murmured into the sensitive skin over Phil’s ribs. As he kissed along Phil’s stomach, he watched his own hand on Phil’s cock. The sight of their skin together was obscenely poetic.

Phil all but whined when Clint finally slid his mouth over the head of his cock. “Feels so good.” The handcuffs thunked against wood again. “Want to touch you...”

“Another time, babe. Just let me taste you.” Clint licked slowly down Phil’s shaft. “Don’t come if I don’t say. I have a lot more to do to you.”

Before Phil could protest, Clint took the man’s cock deep. He’d been a bit of an amateur sword swallower back in the circus, and the skill remained. Phil tasted amazing. Clint lost himself a little, just enjoying the warm weight of Phil’s cock against his tongue.

“Clint...so good...” Phil was close to forgetting himself. “How do you even do that with your...fuck!” He pulled against the cuffs. “God...let me come soon.”

Clint dragged his lips as he withdrew to grin up at Phil. “Not yet, babe. I’m going to ride you.”

“Please,” came the beautiful gasp.

Smiling, Clint kissed the skin beside Phil’s navel. “I knew you would be beautiful if you begged.”

Phil inhaled slowly before speaking deliberately, “I...please, sir...no condom?”

Looking up the man’s body, Clint met Phil’s eyes. More than a request, this was an offering. Beyond them knowing the other’s medical histories and the fact that they were clean and had been monogamous for years, this was a request for deeper intimacy. As practical and responsible as condoms were, something symbolic remained in lovemaking with only skin between partners.

This could be an extension of Phil’s submission, or the man wanting more between them. Clint was more than fine with being closer to Phil. He already felt secured to the man’s orbit. Even if they’d never crossed that line in Budapest, Phil Coulson would still be one of the most important people in Clint’s world.

Lying alongside the man, a hand over Phil’s heart, Clint kissed him. He kept eye contact and agreed, “No condom.”

The gratitude and trust in Phil’s eyes was almost too much. His body laid out almost relaxed, and the black of the handcuffs looked lovely in contrast to his pale wrists. Clint took a moment to again wonder at how lucky he was to have this man in his bed. He must have earned some good karma somewhere.

Clint kissed Phil for a long while, delighting in the rub of his body over the other’s. Delicious little sounds escaped Phil’s throat, sounds that the usually controlled agent would not let free any other time. They were like a gift to Clint.

“Wish I could prep you,” Phil said when Clint took the lube in hand.

“Another time,” Clint promised. He knelt straddling Phil and pressed a slick finger inside himself. “Just enjoy the view, babe.”

“I do,” Phil said. “Fuck’s sake, that’s hot.” He flexed fingers against the headboard. “Get yourself ready for me.”

“Yeah.” Clint added a second finger inside himself. “Feels good.”

“I could come from watching that,” Phil groaned. “But I’m trying to be good. Ride me soon, or I won’t hold off until you say.”

Clint chuckled. “That hot, is it?” He scissored his fingers, and reached to grip Phil’s fingers with the other hand, lacing them together. “Love when you do it,” he confessed, “but this is amazing too. You’re being a good boy. Just wait a bit...”

“Clint.” Phil hooked his leg behind Clint’s knee. “Please let me have you.”

Meeting Phil’s eyes again, Clint let his feelings show. “You have me,” he said. Should’ve known that for a while, he thought.

With ultimate care, Clint gripped Phil’s cock and guided the hot shaft inside himself. Inch by inch -- and hell yes there were several inches -- Clint lowered onto Phil’s erection. He shuddered when Phil was fully inside. When he opened his eyes, he looked down and caught an amazing expression in Phil’s. It was almost too much, almost made him stop. Clint hadn’t realized how much he affected Phil. He knew the man liked the sex, even knew that Phil cared, but this -

He would not meet it with fear. Phil was his. The belonging went both ways. They were giving this to each other, trusting and with barriers gone, symbolic and literal. Clint seated over Phil’s hips and just felt for a while.

“You feel incredible,” Clint murmured.

“I should be saying that. God, you take it so damn beautifully.”

Clint grinned. “What happened to calling me sir?”

“You take my cock so well, sir. You’re going to ride me like a pro, aren’t you, sir?”

“Cheeky boy,” Clint chuckled. He began grinding his hips and delighted in the vision of Phil trembling beneath him like the air had gone from his lungs. “Yes, I’m gonna ride you, boy.” Clint’s voice was a deep purr. “I’m gonna come hard all over you, then you can come.”

Phil hissed between his teeth. His arms strained beautifully, but of course were still helpless against the cuffs. Clint considered gagging the man in the future. It would mean no delicious dirty talk, but Clint was sure Phil could convey things in other ways.

“You can dominate me, sometime,” Clint said. “Wouldn’t you love tying me down and making me take whatever you gave?”

“Fuck yes,” Phil said. “You don’t know the things I would do to you.”

“I’ll just have to imagine until you do them. Would you tie me down in my own bed? My headboard’s practically made for bondage, don’t you think?”

“Fuck, Clint,” Phil groaned. “Clint!”

“Love how you say my name.” Clint rocked his hips hard. “Think I can make you scream it?”

Phil grinned. He lifted into Clint’s next thrust down. Clint’s moan rolled from deep in his chest and he arched over Phil’s body. It was new, thinking about or planning or even discussing future sex. Clint found he liked it. He liked speculating and anticipating being with Phil in the future.

Bracing his hands on Phil’s chest, Clint slowly withdrew then sank down, loving the slide of Phil penetrating him. He loved the intimacy of it. There was a primal connection with their bodies joined this way, made more potent by the novel lack of a condom. He spared a hand to stroke himself, enjoying watching Phil watch him. Contrary to office rumors, Clint was not a voyeur/exhibitionist except alone with his partner. Then he wanted to see and be seen. He wanted that aroused gaze on him.

“Are you going to mark me with your come, sir?” Phil asked, slipping back into the submissive role. “How can I make you come, sir?” His eyes gleamed.

Clint groaned. “You just want me to so you can come,” he teased.

“No, sir.” Phil’s voice dropped pitch. “Want to see you come.”

With another groan, Clint lay over Phil’s chest and nibbled the man’s neck. They moved together; there was no way Phil did not know what he was doing. He filled Clint perfectly. He was hard and hot and oh so deep.

“Tell me how you’re gonna make me come,” Clint ordered.

Phil’s breath scorched over Clint’s ear. “I’m so deep inside you,” he murmured. “I know you like that. You like getting fucked.” He rolled his hips. “You’d be an excellent high-class prostitute.”

“Oh, god,” Clint groaned.

Phil dragged his leg along Clint’s calf. “What if I gave you a taste of it?” he asked. “I would tie you down and make you service me in every way. Make you be a whore for me. Just like you used to say over the comms...”

“Phil...”

“You said people like the sounds you make. I would drag out sounds from you that you’d never made before.”

“Yes!” Clint gripped Phil’s shoulders and desperately ground his cock over Phil’s stomach. “H-how do you come up with all that?”

Phil rolled his torso so their skin slid together. “Had since Budapest to imagine every last filthy thing I want to do to you.” He thrust up into Clint. “You’re really,” another thrust, “very,” and a deep grind, “inspirational.”

“Fffuck...” Gripping Phil’s hair, Clint assaulted the man’s mouth with a kiss. He grinned when he felt Phil shudder and moved to lick at Phil’s neck. “Shoulda gagged you...”

“You think that would stop me?”

Clint nipped Phil’s collarbone. “Goddamn you, Phil Coulson.”

“You first.”

Propping up partially on his right elbow, Clint gripped himself and stroked hard, letting Phil see how he liked touching himself. Phil held his eyes and licked his lips, and Clint was gone. With a helpless cry, he shot his climax over Phil’s stomach and chest. Before his tremors finished, Phil arched beneath Clint with a cry of his own. Clint felt the hot liquid of Phil’s release and shuddered all over again.

Clint clung to Phil, trying to use the man’s presence as an anchor to float back to. Phil, because he was just that good, managed to cling back without use of his arms. His breath traveled heavily over Clint’s shoulder.

“Let me touch you,” Phil said after a while.

Feeling a bit guilty for almost neglecting aftercare, Clint pulled himself away from the sweet contact with Phil’s body. “Be right back.”

In the bathroom, Clint cleaned himself up and gathered washcloths to clean Phil. He caught a look at himself in the mirror. Well, damn. He looked better than satisfied. To be honest, it was a wonder he could walk after that bone-melting orgasm.

It was a compliment to see Phil still cuffed and waiting for him. No doubt Phil could escape from the cuffs if necessary. The fact that he hadn’t meant he wanted to be right there. Right there, in Clint’s bed.

Gently he wiped Phil clean before unbuckling the cuffs and kissing Phil’s wrists. No marks were left from their exertion. Good. Clint didn’t think he could ever bring himself to leave a mark like that on Phil.

“How was it?” Clint asked carefully.

Phil wrapped a hand behind Clint’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. “It was what I needed, you were right,” he said. “Thank you.”

Clint did not expect to feel relief pricking like tears in his throat. “Never been thanked for it,” he said.

Phil only touched Clint’s face, silent for a while. “Maybe in the morning I’ll tell you about Albright,” he said. “I--can I stay?”

Clint smiled. “I’m not letting you go.”

They helped each other settle. The bed felt better with Phil in it. Clint hoped it wasn’t all just the residual pleasure of a great orgasm. It couldn’t be. Not when it, when this between them was more than physical, when it had been more than sex for longer than he’d realized. He couldn’t have let Phil go easily even if the man had wanted to leave after tonight. They’d crossed another barrier tonight, and Clint at least...yeah.

He was pretty sure he was in love.


	9. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still safe the morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing the possible sweetness that can happen between these two.

Waking up to Phil Coulson in bed with him wasn’t new. Waking up to Phil Coulson in his bed was new. Clint relaxed and let the world flow by for a while. Welcoming Phil into his “nest” had been a no-brainer. The chance to take care of the man who usually cared for him? Clint grasped it eagerly.

Phil was beautiful. Beauty wasn’t always feminine. When Phil slept, he was beautiful; he relaxed into a person almost fragile enough to make Clint forget he was also Senior Agent Coulson. Bits of lighter brown and even bits of gray shone in Phil’s hair in the clean morning light. Clint wanted to keep this moment, put it in his pocket forever if that was possible.

Phil lay on his stomach, one arm tangled with Clint’s. The strong, pale line of his shoulders stretched above the blanket. Clint tamped down the urge to trail kisses along that perfect skin. Phil needed to sleep more than Clint needed to touch.

Did anybody think of the care that handlers might need after a rough mission? He supposed Fury was able to see, since he had come to Clint last evening. Assets and agents and specialists could be remarkably self-involved, which was why handlers were necessary a lot of the time. Clint wondered about the toll responsibility took on a man like Phil. Maria Hill might be second-in-command, but Phil was Fury’s right-hand man.

Clint’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. Thanking himself for the minor grace of its silence not waking Phil, Clint reached carefully for it.

“Boy better be sleeping,” was Fury’s greeting.

“He is,” Clint said, hoping the closeness of his voice wouldn’t wake the man in question.

Fury made a sound that wasn’t a hum and wasn’t a sigh. “You’re good for him. He has another thirty hours of downtime. Stay with him.”

“Sir?”

“Not saying I ain’t jealous he didn’t respond to Marcus, but you got him to rest. Be what he needs, Barton.”

For a terrifying moment, Clint wondered if Fury was psychic. The Director was being downright sentimental. “I can -- I mean, I will, sir. Thanks for the day off.”

Fury snorted softly. “Can’t have my best all traumatized.” The line went dead.

Clint grinned at his phone for a moment. God forbid Fury have regular human feelings. Not part of the persona he needed to project.

Beside him, Phil shifted semi-awake, and Clint’s smile grew. The older man’s sleepiness was a privileged thing to see. Waking up in safe houses was rarely this slow and easy, and half the time Natasha was with them, prodding them out of their slumber.

Clint replaced his phone and smoothed his hand over Phil’s shoulder. A sleep-warm Phil was definitely high on Clint’s short list of favorite things. “Fury just told us to take the day off.”

“Mmm,” Phil hummed, nuzzling into Clint’s shoulder. “Your bed’s comfy.”

“Stay as long as you like.”

A sliver of blue glinted at Clint as Phil cracked open an eye. “All day?”

Clint couldn’t stop his chuckle at how purely adorable the request was. It was more than a privilege; it was a blessing to get to see Agent Coulson like this. Clint resolved to give Phil something equal in return as soon as he could think of something worthy.

“Maybe a good part of the day,” Clint said. “We also need food and shower, and stuff.”

Shifting to face Clint, Phil looked at him for a moment. “Bath together instead?”

“If you want.”

“I want.”

The heat seeping into Phil’s eyes filled the space between them. Rolling to his side to hold Phil closer, Clint kissed him, gently nudging their lips together. He’d never seen Phil so relaxed or open. He wondered if anyone ever had.

“C’mon,” he murmured, not yet trying to untangle their limbs or the sheets, “I got orders to take care of you.”

“Yessir,” Phil quipped, sending a jolt of delicious memory through Clint. The man was going to do him in, and Clint would enjoy all of it.

Clint had almost kept only his quarters at SHIELD, but if he was a sucker for anything, it was a large bathtub. The apartment was worth its somewhat higher rent for the deep tub. Two people could easily fit, though Clint hadn’t imagined anyone to share it with before Phil. Natasha had used it a few times after Clint had patched her wounds since she was worse than anyone about escaping medical. But Phil had never seen Clint’s nest before. He was oddly nervous about that, at the same time eager to share this.

“I’m not surprised your bath is that big,” Phil said when he saw the tub built awkwardly into the space. He watched Clint fill the tub, unconcerned that they were still both nude yet it not feeling sexual.

Clint only smiled. Once both settled in the steaming water, he gently held Phil for an extended moment. In a way, it was a treatment for injuries. For how unbalanced Phil had been before, his contentment now helped Clint just as much.

He settled behind Phil so he could pull the man against his chest. Washing was a languid task, involving as much occasional nuzzling as actual scrubbing. Phil floated into the touch when Clint’s hands drifted between his legs, but neither man particularly wanted sex at the moment.

Clint felt oddly good having Phil wearing his clothes. They were close enough in size, with Clint being scarcely taller and Phil being slightly broader in the shoulders, and Phil looked nothing short of cute in Clint’s sweat pants and t-shirt.

It was closer to lunch when they emerged to the kitchen, but Clint decided on eggs and breakfast food for its heartiness. For once he didn’t burn the sausage. The coffee was less quality than Phil’s private stash, but it easily washed down their brunch.

Their silence was a comfort. Phil was clearly contemplating words, but Clint let him. No coercive force in the world could squeeze words from Coulson before he was willing. But when their bellies were full, Phil began telling Clint about the mission. Agent Thea Albright had risen through the levels admirably. She had told Phil while she was bleeding out, not to make too many regrets in life. She didn’t regret giving her life to SHIELD. Even as the medevac was too late (they both had known it after a certain point), she thanked Phil for staying with her.

“On the good days, you’re a shadow,” Phil said. “On the bad days, you’re a monster. Sometimes we fool ourselves into thinking we’re better than the monsters we chase, but she actually was.”

“And sometimes,” Clint said, “we’re good enough to be angels.”

Phil looked Clint in the eye for a long time. The press of years and trials hung behind his blue gaze. “I’d never have said this if not to you,” he finally said. “You’re my safety, Clint. I’m safe here. I couldn’t even tell Marcus--” He scrubbed hands over his face.

Clint grasped Phil’s wrists, remembering for an instant the black leather cuffs around them. “He knew you couldn’t give him the words, so he made the effort to find someone. I’m honored he called me. We’ve always clicked, Phil. You know I’ll always do everything to make you safe.” Was it uncharacteristic of Clint to be so open and almost poetic? Phil seemed to draw that out of him.

Their knees knocked together when Phil shifted in the kitchen chair. They leaned forward together to touch foreheads. “You gave me what I didn’t know I needed,” Phil said.

If Clint weren’t already sure about his heart, that declaration would have done it.


	10. Seeing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fury finds out. Or, lets people think he’s only just found out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How realistic is it that Fury might not know about the relationship? There’s the possibility he knows and was pretending not to know, but he might just see the same Clint and Phil as always and not realize there was any change in the usual UST. At any rate, please allow yourself to get fully distracted by the porn that is Jeremy Renner in a three-piece suit.

“Thank you, but no. I’m...with someone,” Clint said.

“You’re sure?” the junior agent pouted. She knew she was cute, and was trying her wiles on the infamous Hawkeye. “Not even just out to coffee?”

“I’m sure.” Clint’s face was a study of polite denial.

Flouncing just a bit, the junior agent vacated the break room. Nick Fury loitered in the doorway, smirking. “Every girl crazy ‘bout a sharp-dressed man, Barton.”

Clint looked down at himself and the dark three-piece suit he wore. “It does have its advantages,” he agreed.

“But you’re with someone.” Fury raised an eyebrow at the archer. “Serious? Do I need to vet this someone for security?” he teased.

Clint shrugged, his stance just a bit too casual. “Nah, not necessary.”

“Barton, even if it’s casual, you know it’s the best precaution. You’re not supposed to exist to most people.”

“Sir...it’s Coulson.”

“What about Coulson?”

Clint simply looked at Fury. The Director should not be so clueless, even if the thing between Clint and Phil had been deliberately secret. They may not be broadcasting whatever their thing was, but they weren’t sneaking.

“Barton,” Fury said quietly, after a long pause, “the ‘someone’ you’re ‘with’ is Coulson?” At Clint’s amused nod, Fury shook his head. “You sure it won’t be a problem?”

“It hasn’t been a problem since Budapest,” came Coulson’s smooth voice from behind Fury.

Of course the Director of SHIELD did not startle at his senior agent so quietly sneaking up. He measured the look exchanged between the two men. “How did I miss it for so long?” he asked himself.

“We are supposed to be spies, sir,” Coulson answered.

“You got me there.” Fury watched as Coulson moved into Clint’s personal space, taking the Styrofoam cup of coffee from the archer’s hand and sipping from it.

Coulson made a face. “How do you have any teeth left, drinking it with that much sweetener?”

“Hey, it’s the only sugar I eat, unlike your donuts...”

“Two words, Barton: Tootsie pops.”

Fury laughed. “Well, isn’t this adorable.”

Clint cringed just a bit and glanced at Fury. “It won’t be a problem,” he said. It was a half-question. He might be challenging Fury to make it a problem.

Fury waved a hand at them. “I don’t dictate private lives. If it hasn’t been an issue for six years, I can’t really give a fuck.” He narrowed his eye at them. “Do I need to deliver a shovel talk?”

“I think we’d both prefer you didn’t,” Coulson said.

Fury nodded. “As long as it’s not a problem, you two enjoy. Mazel tov, and all of that.” He grabbed a homemade cookie from someone’s break room offering, and was gone in a whisper of his long coat.

Through the open break room door, one might overhear Clint’s stunned, “Dude, Nick Fury just gave us his blessing?”

Coulson permitted a visible eye roll. One couldn’t expect less from Fury. SHIELD wasn’t the same as other organizations, so why would its fraternization policy be anything standard?

Still quite far inside Clint’s personal space, Coulson became Phil and leaned in to murmur in the other man’s ear, “Seeing you in that suit does things to me.”

Clint grinned. “Now you know how I feel all the time.”

“That’s useful insight.” Phil’s eyes traveled along the dark lines of the perfectly tailored fabric. All black, except for the crisp white shirt, the fabric flattered everything. Clint never wore such things, so this was a visual treat even if Clint didn’t realize. “Any particular reason for this sartorial wonder?”

“R&D fitting for a possible op,” Clint answered. “And you...using words like that is not helping.”

“Not helping what?”

If possible, they were farther inside each other’s space. “Don’t act innocent, you,” Clint said, voice low.

Phil smirked. “You like my vocabulary.” He brushed fingertips over Clint’s sleeve. “Is this worsted wool?”

Clint’s breathing might have caught. “I don’t know. How does it feel?”

Because he was positioned so anyone walking by wouldn’t see them through the break room door, Phil was free to run his hand up Clint’s arm. Their mutual warmth traveled through the suit fabric. “It feels expensive.”

“Well, you know R&D. They like to play with the good stuff.” Clint looked at Phil. “They want to fit it with all kinds of gadgets, so they took all my measurements again.”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “Someone down there has a talent for tailoring.” He sipped more of the overly sweet coffee he’d stolen, simply watching his own fingers on Clint’s sleeve. “Speaking of ops, I’m off to Malibu in a few days.”

“Lucky.”

“Not so much. I’m watching Tony Stark.” Phil paused. “Could be gone for months.”

“Sounds like you need a little sendoff.”

Phil shrugged. “If you’ll oblige.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “I could oblige.” He took his coffee back, fingers trailing hot over Phil’s. “Any requests?”

Phil’s eyes flickered down to Clint’s tie. “I have some ideas for that headboard of yours.”

Clint licked his lips. “Tonight? I’ll keep the suit...”

“Perfect.” Phil let his hand drop from Clint’s sleeve as a smile ghosted over his usually placid expression. “Try to take care of it, Agent Barton. It’s clearly high quality.” Then he was gone from the break room, a nearly panting Clint left behind.


	11. Sendoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A going-away night for Phil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I am intrigued by stories where D/s is a lifestyle for them, my version of Clint and Phil take it as occasional fun and don’t get all that heavy with it. This takes place just before Phil leaves to wrangle Tony Stark as seen in the Iron Man movies.

Clint opened his door before Phil finished knocking. He scarcely had time to smirk before Phil pushed into his space and into a hard kiss. Shoving the door shut, Clint pressed Phil back against it. For a while they competed at how filthy they could turn the kiss. Clint thought he might win when Phil groaned against his tongue.

He didn’t want to miss Phil for however long the senior agent’s assignment lasted. He never expected to have anyone to miss like this. Aside from the overwhelming trust between them, Clint knew his feelings had become increasingly complicated. When Fury said how many years it had been since Budapest, something inside Clint’s chest did a little flip. The surprise was, it wasn’t a frightened flip. Despite his reputation as a flirt, Clint somehow had stayed committed to one person for six years.

Maybe that one person being Phil Coulson made the difference. Clint pressed his leg between Phil’s as he swept his tongue over Phil’s bottom lip. Desire boiled through his body up from deep in his spine. Of course Phil Coulson made all the difference.

Gasping, Phil broke this kiss, head thumping on the door behind him. The pure smolder he gave Clint made him gasp a little too. They were totally going to wear each other out tonight.

Then Clint noticed the small overnight bag Phil had brought. At his questioning eyebrow, Phil grinned. “I mentioned I’ve spent time imagining what I would do to you.”

“Any of that imagination involving my headboard?”

“If you’re willing.”

Clint felt that warmth grow in his belly at the repeat of the phrase he’d used those few months ago. He was treated to sudden mental images of Phil tying him to the bed in an incredibly sexy role reversal of last time.

“Babe, I am so fucking willing.” Clint leaned in to nibble the side of Phil’s neck. “Just couldn’t stop thinking about tying me down, could you?” He felt Phil’s delicate shudder.

“I did mention making you into a whore for me.”

“A high-class prostitute, surely. A common whore couldn’t afford this suit, could he?”

“Maybe if he was a kept man.”

Clint laughed. “Sugar daddy comments aside, I’m not really in the mood to reenact ‘Pretty Woman’ tonight.” He trailed a hand down to Phil’s hip. “But I am curious about what props you’ve brought.”

“Not yet.” Phil turned to flick his tongue over Clint’s earlobe. “It wouldn’t be right to pull off that suit without enjoying it some. I never see you in suits.”

“It’s a treat for you, hmm? I’m sure you have a plan for enjoying me...”

Phil slid his hands up beneath the bottom of Clint’s jacket and gripped the archer’s ass. “Clint, you’re wearing sleeves and a tie and tailored trousers. I have to enjoy it.”

Clint wriggled a bit in Phil’s grasp. “Don’t forget the vest,” he said. “Or waistcoat. I don’t know what it’s properly called.”

“It’s called ridiculously sexy.”

Clint laughed again. “You are really gone for me in these clothes. Well guess what: you in your damn designer fabric all the time makes me wonder if I can get through a day without-”

“Without what? Without drooling? Without jumping me? Without hiding in the restroom at least once a day, and-”

“Oh my god, Phil. You do not do that.”

“I do,” Phil growled into Clint’s ear. “More than once. Your field uniform is a sinful distraction.”

“It’s the arms, isn’t it?”

“It’s you, Clint.” Phil angled his hips against Clint’s, naturally leaving no question of Clint’s effect on him.

Clint wasn’t quite sure what to think of that. Sure he knew Phil had to find him attractive, or they wouldn’t be making out against his door, but something in how Phil said it made it deeper. Clint almost said something sentimental.

“Hey.” Phil laid a hand on Clint’s jaw so Clint met his eyes. “Are you-”

“This is horribly cliche,” Clint said, “but I miss you already.”

Phil kissed him lightly. “We’ve been spoiled by our jobs keeping us together.”

Clint smiled weakly. “Best team ever. Yep, we’ve been spoiled.”

Tilting his head in that appraising way he got, Phil looked at Clint. “You worried about how long this might be?”

“No, just spoiled and not used to the idea.” Clint rested his hands at the small of Phil’s back. “Hey, the separation will give me tons of chances to obscene phone call you.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

God, how he loved their banter. “So...tonight is a big sendoff. I should do the things you want, since you’re the one going. Care to share ideas?”

Phil got that glint in his eyes that would make a playboy blush. “To start, I want to blow you while you’re still wearing that suit.”

That should not cause Clint to shudder as he did, except it was near the top of his list of fantasies about Phil. “Mmm, are you a mind reader, because I still need to do that to you. You gonna swallow, because it would be a shame to ruin this fabric?”

Phil just grinned. “I didn’t specify if I was going to let you come.”

“Fuck. I’m gonna come in these pants anyway if you keep talking like that.”

“That would be impolite, Barton.”

Pressing Phil’s body hard against the door, Clint asked, “Would I need some punishment?”

An eyebrow arched. “I never did spank you...”

With a groan, Clint gripped the back of Phil’s neck and all but sucked on the man’s lips. He let Phil push them toward the couch. Sitting down hard, he pulled until the other man knelt across his thighs, pressing Clint into the cushioned back. They seemed to do that a lot: transition from teasing banter to impatient groping. Clint kind of liked that as one of their things.

It felt as though Phil caressed the fabric as much as Clint’s body as hands slid over his shoulders and lapels. Phil’s kiss was artful sucking and tongue, and Clint gave before it was even asked. Who wouldn’t give Phil Coulson whatever he wanted if he knelt in your lap?

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Phil said when he broke to slide down Clint’s body. His hands followed the folds of material over Clint’s chest, lingering where the jacket parted over Clint’s groin.

Clint’s eyes threatened to slide closed at the pleasure before anything had really started. He watched Phil kneel in front of the couch. Elegant hands with pale skin stood out against the dark fabric over Clint’s knees.

Slowly, Phil dragged down the zipper of Clint’s pants, as if he had all the time in the world. Clint watched as his own cock was pulled out. The sight of Phil’s fingers on his skin made Clint shiver. “You like that cock?” he purred.

“Mmm.” Phil grinned before sliding his tongue over the head. “Tastes good.”

“Ohgod.” Clint gripped the couch cushions. “Yeah babe, just taste it.”

Phil obliged. He kept eye contact as his tongue did wicked things to Clint’s shaft. Clint encouraged him with a fractured stream of groans and curses. Of course Phil Coulson was good at everything, was especially good at cock sucking. Clint fought not to come hard the moment Phil slid his mouth down.

“That’s it, you like sucking me. I imagined doing this to you for ages. Nothing but your cock out, debauched in that suit of yours.”

Phil withdrew enough to speak, “If you’re still this coherent, I’m doing something wrong.” He grasped Clint’s thighs and pushed them farther apart before sliding his mouth down deep again.

Clint moaned. He was long past the time when he might have made Phil earn a vocal response. The man had earned every sound. Instead of grasping at Phil’s hair to urge the man on, Clint gripped the couch cushions until his knuckles whitened. He shifted his hips into pure hot, wet sensation.

Then it was gone. Clint whined a bit. But Phil was crawling onto the couch to lick the side of Clint’s neck. “Don’t want you to come yet.” He squeezed the base of Clint’s shaft.

“Phil...”

Phil chuckled. “Begging already?” He trailed fingers up Clint’s body to pop open the single jacket button. “I’ve been researching. I think I know the appeal of dominating someone.” He started on Clint’s vest buttons. “It means I can keep you where I want you.” He nipped Clint’s earlobe again.

Clint was basically a mess of heavy breathing. His cock throbbed when Phil nudged it aside to undo his trousers button. “It means one gives, and the other takes,” he said. “I like doing things as a gift.”

Kissing him for a long moment, Phil guided Clint’s hand to his own crotch, straining against the fine Dolce fabric. “I think you like taking a bit more. Having all that focus on you...”

“Maybe,” Clint admitted. “Was that how it felt for you? You were taking all that attention?”

Phil hummed. “I felt...cherished.” He met Clint’s eyes. “I want to return it.”

Clint arched up to press a deep kiss to Phil’s mouth. “I’m yours,” he said. “If we need a safe word, I’ve used ‘saffron’ in the past.”

“Saffron,” Phil repeated. “Any, uh...any hard limits?”

Clint couldn’t help smiling. The man had done his research well. “Don’t break the skin,” Clint answered. “Anything else...well, it’s supposed to be fun. No humiliation-type stuff.”

“So I can actually spank you?”

“Mmm, if you want. Just not a lot of pain.”

Phil straddled Clint’s thighs. “I want to lay you out and just play with you.”

That was perfectly fine with Clint. “That better mean you brought toys, mister.”

“Only if it means you’re the playground.”

“Fuck, yes.”

Phil returned to tasting Clint’s neck. Eventually, he undid Clint’s tie, then nibbled on his Adam’s apple. Clint took the attention greedily, and slid Phil’s own suit jacket off. It was nice being passive once in a while. The trust in allowing Phil’s lead was gratifying.

“Need more skin,” Phil said as he undid Clint’s shirt. “Unwrapping...”

“A dirty present,” Clint chuckled.

“A delicious present.” Phil sucked on Clint’s collarbone. He followed his hands with kisses as he bared more of Clint’s chest. “I can’t describe how fucking good you look.”

Part of Clint felt he should blush under that lust. He knew he had a hot body, okay, but Phil fucking Coulson was eyeing him like a dessert. He lay against the couch, bare torso exposed among layers of fabric, cock hard and almost mocking the propriety of his suit. Since shortly after puberty, Clint had never been self-conscious of his own nudity, but Phil made him feel bare in new ways.

“Compare hotness later,” Clint muttered, reaching for and squeezing Phil’s ass. “Bed?”

Though not as solid as Clint, Phil was not frail. He pulled them both to their feet. Grabbing the bag he’d dropped earlier, Phil nudged them toward Clint’s bedroom. “How do you feel about ropes?”

“Not fond of them. But there are still my handcuffs.”

“I know you would be gorgeous cuffed to your own headboard.”

Clit let himself shudder once again. “Told you it was made for bondage.” He tugged Phil close by the hips. “But now...I need more skin. Should I beg? Please get naked, sir?”

In answer, Phil pushed his hands beneath Clint’s open clothing and slid all three layers off. He kissed Clint deep and dirty as he removed Clint’s pants and underwear. He grinned at Clint’s expression. “Have you earned the reward?”

“Oh, I’ve been very good, sir. Haven’t been insubordinate all day. Should I undress you?”

“You’d be in trouble if you didn’t.”

Oh, he was enjoying this so, so much. Eagerly, Clint divested Phil of his clothes. His motions echoed Phil’s as he caressed the man’s torso.

 

\- - - - -

 

At times Phil caught himself amazed that Clint Barton wanted him. Phil had made an art of convincing others he was nothing special, perhaps so much that he might believe it a little himself. The way Clint’s hands and mouth eagerly took Phil’s body as an experience surprised Phil. It was nothing new that Phil wanted to taste every inch of Clint’s skin, but Clint’s actions said he enjoyed just the same.

Phil couldn’t decide where to put his hands. Did he grip bruises into Clint’s hips? Did he scratch lines down Clint’s back? He wanted to mark the man. Clint had had bruises on his neck for weeks after Budapest. He hadn’t done much of a job hiding them, either, and Phil recalled a surge of unexpected pride when he caught a glimpse of the purple marring Clint’s golden skin.

Of course he gasped when Clint trailed thumbs over his nipples. The archer knew how sensitive they were. After so many years doing this, of course they knew each other’s tells. Compared to their first time, when it was all fire and gripping sensation, their sex had become rolling heat and comfort.

Because he was Hawkeye and he missed nothing, Clint paused to look at Phil. “Something I need to know?”

Phil slid his hands around Clint’s hips. “Fury said six years, and that just hit me. I think it’s the longest relationship I’ve had.”

Clint’s slow grin melted from salacious to boyish. “Yeah, it kind of hit me too. So is every year after Budapest like our anniversary?”

Phil kissed the man slow and deep, just because he could. Clint shuddered and pulled them both down to the bed, Phil lying on top. They still didn’t talk about it. Defining their relationship might lessen it. But there were those moments when the caring was obvious. If Phil ever truly wanted to discuss what they were to each other, he knew Clint would listen, and that was why he didn’t need to discuss it.

Phil hummed a bit as their kiss softened. “I’m torn,” he confessed. “We could keep doing this, or I could do those things I’ve been imagining...”

Clint wriggled a bit beneath Phil. “I was looking forward to discovering what you brought in that bag of props.”

Phil felt himself blush. All their talk of Budapest had him remembering how filthy he’d been then. Why was he suddenly not?

“Hey,” Clint interrupted his thoughts again. “Need a bit of inspiration?” Phil’s face must have been answer, because Clint grinned up at him. He wriggled again, warm skin pleasantly reminding Phil of their positions. “Let’s start a guessing game, about what you brought to play with.”

Arching an eyebrow but willing to go along with Clint’s taunting, Phil pulled the small bag onto the bed beside them. “What’s the reward if you guess correctly?”

“Obviously, you get to use it on me.”

A roil of heat spiked low in Phil’s spine. “That’s your reward. What’s mine?”

“Mmm, I believe spanking and handcuffing was mentioned?”

Phil realized that growl was his. “Or I could see if you can come multiple times.”

“Fuck. Why not both? All of the above? Tell me you brought a cock ring...”

Phil reached into the bag and withdrew a decently sized butt plug. “Not quite.”

“Oh, fuck yes.” Clint leaned up to nip at Phil’s neck. “Let me feel it, babe.”

Gripping Clint’s wrists, Phil pushed the man’s arms down to the bed. He wedged a knee against Clint’s balls. “Maybe you haven’t earned it yet.”

Clint grinned, not quite testing his strength against Phil’s grip. “Do I need to beg...sir?”

“That doesn’t sound very genuine.” With a squeeze to the wrists in his hands, Phil purred in Clint’s ear, “I want to mark you. If you learn to beg well enough while I’m biting your neck, then I might show you how my props are used.”

“Yes...”

Phil scraped his teeth over the curve of Clint’s ear. “Yes, what?”

“Yes please, sir.” The man’s response was without hesitation. “Can I have some hickeys, sir?”

He might have rolled his eyes at the cheesy request, but a willing Clint beneath him was too delicious for Phil to care. He traced the strong lines of Clint’s neck with his tongue, using his weight to keep Clint mostly immobile. When he bit gently on the muscle beneath Clint’s jaw, the man’s groan vibrated through them both. Phil sucked until he knew the mark would stay. Something about Clint sparked these primitive wants, wants like marking the man. Licking lower, Phil nibbled a bruise into the muscle between neck and shoulder.

“Please.” Clint’s voice was breathy.

Something about making Clint beg was extra hot. For how powerful everything else was, Clint’s wrists were rather delicate. Phil could squeeze his fingers nearly fully around them. “What if I squeezed your wrists? You’d feel it when you put on your arm and finger guards, you’d know I caused it. You want that?” He spoke against Clint’s mouth. “You want that reminder, the proof I was there?”

“Nnnghh, Phil...”

“You want more? I haven’t done much, and you’re moaning.” Phil nibbled at Clint’s chin.

“Tryin’ to be good, so I can ask-”

“Ask what?” Phil ground his thigh between Clint’s. “Ask nicely.”

“Want that butt plug. Want a spanking. Want you to fucking ride me.”

“That wasn’t very polite.”

Phil was sure Clint helped when he maneuvered the archer onto his stomach. Pinning the younger man’s wrists at the small of his back, Phil leaned his body along Clint’s. He nipped a spot on Clint’s shoulder blade before reaching for the lube in the nightstand.

“Please,” Clint gasped.

“Better.” Phil nudged a slickened finger between Clint’s buttocks. “But how do you ask nicely for all those things you want?”

It took a moment before Clint spoke, “Please sir, I want to feel that plug inside me.”

Phil almost gasped. “Much better.” He picked up the item in question, holding the plug for Clint to see. “It’s just right, isn’t it? Not too big, but big enough that you’ll feel it. I bought it a few weeks ago, haven’t used it yet.” He released his grip on Clint’s wrists, trusting the man to keep his hands where they were. “Suck it for me while I get your hole ready.”

The noise Clint made shot right to Phil’s cock. He nearly forgot himself as he watched Clint slide his mouth over the toy. The archer met Phil’s eyes and took the plug deeper. For a while Phil was mesmerized.

When Clint fluttered his eyes closed and began actually sucking on the toy, Phil pressed his lubed finger inside the man. Clint arched his hips toward Phil’s hand. It was beautiful how Clint kept the submissive position Phil had guided him into: wrists crossed at the small of his back, legs slightly spread, head turned to the side. Phil laid kisses along Clint’s muscular back as reward for being so pliant.

“Now I wish I did have a cock ring,” Phil said, “so I could keep touching you for ages.” He pushed a second finger inside Clint. “And you wouldn’t come until I took it off.”

Clint withdrew from the toy in his mouth with a pant. “Think I can’t hold off until you say, sir?”

Like a bolt, Phil understood another nuance of dominance and submission. The sub had incredible power. Clint was amazing for taking and challenging Phil. Clint made the choice to obey. The research Phil had done had tried to explain, but it wasn’t the same as seeing gorgeous, strong, powerful Clint Barton willingly spread out on the bed.

“I think I can make you come more than once,” Phil murmured against the man’s ear.

“Yeah? You researched that too?”

“Barton, what man has not researched multiple male orgasms?”

Chuckling, Clint ground his hips again. “Don’t care if it’s only once; I just want you to play with me.”

“And how do you ask nicely?”

Clint grinned. “Please sir, make me feel good.”

He never was very good at denying Clint. Efficiently, he applied lube to the butt plug while Clint watched. Phil took a kiss before he teased just the tip of the toy over Clint’s hole. The archer shuddered. Smiling, Phil watched Clint gasp as the plug invaded his body. Still, the younger man did not move from his prone position.

“Good boy,” Phil purred. “It’s all the way in now, and it looks incredible.”

“Thank you, sir.”

That was irrationally hot. Phil massaged the end of the plug until Clint groaned. “Feels good, doesn’t it, my hawk?”

“Not as good as your cock, sir.”

Phil snorted out an exaggerated huff. “That’s just ungrateful.” He laid a sharp slap to Clint’s ass.

Clint jumped against the mattress. “Phil!”

“Okay?” Phil asked, rubbing the flesh he’d slapped.

“Please,” Clint breathed. “More, sir.”

Feeling honored to have Clint’s trust this way, Phil licked the man’s ear. “A little pain to go with the pleasure?” At Clint’s nod, Phil kissed his neck. With one hand he gripped Clint’s wrists together and pressed them against Clint’s back. “I’m not into pain. You’ll use the word if you need, okay?”

“You can use it too if you need.”

“...Oh.”

“That’s what it’s for. Of course Doms can use the safe word.”

“Oh,” Phil said again.

Clint laughed. “I want it, babe. C’mon, don’t tease about spanking and not follow through.”

The man was still a menace, even when pinned to the bed face down. What could Phil do but squeeze Clint’s cheek before laying another slap across the beautiful buttocks? Every subsequent slap earned a groan from Clint. Phil found himself wishing for a cock ring of his own. The sight of Clint’s ass cheeks reddening under each slap had Phil harder than he’d expected. He might be in danger of coming sooner than Clint.

“Fuck, Clint. Clint...I keep using the same words to describe you.” He dealt another slap. “Gorgeous. Amazing.” He rubbed the warm redness of Clint’s skin. “They’re all the words I have. New ones need to be invented.”

“Magnificent,” Clint said.

“Is that so?” Another, harder slap, just to make Clint gasp again.

“You’re so good to me, sir. But I want-”

“What does my hawk want?” Phil squeezed the wrists in his grasp, leaning over Clint’s body.

“Want you to ride me, sir. Let me see your face when you come?”

It was Phil’s turn to shiver. He almost always gave in to Clint. Maybe it was a potential weakness. Maybe Phil didn’t care. “Onto your back, then. Arms over your head.”

As Clint moved, Phil found the handcuffs in the nightstand. A jolt went down his spine at the memory of the black leather around his own wrists. He looked back to a dangerously aroused and eager Clint watching with hooded eyes. All Phil had to do was buckle those gorgeous arms in place to the headboard.

Clint was moaning softly. “Mmm, the plug feels bigger now. So good, sir...”

Phil couldn’t keep his hands off Clint’s chest. He straddled the man’s hips and played with Clint’s nipples for a while. He loved Clint’s vocalizations. Hawkeye had the reputation of chatting too much over the comms, but Phil took private pleasure in the sound of the man’s voice. Even more pleasurable was this ability to cause intimate sounds. Every one of Clint’s moans and gasps was a little boost to Phil’s ego for causing them.

“’M so hard, sir,” Clint murmured, trying to grind against Phil. “Ride me, please?”

With a smile, Phil stretched out on top of Clint to kiss the man. “Oh, I’m going to,” he said. “Going to make you feel so good, a plug in your ass and your cock filling me...”

Clint’s whimper was a beautiful thing. Impatient, Phil didn’t try to make a show of prepping himself. He felt the weight of Clint’s gaze, something he’d always thought was exaggerated cliche. But he had this man -- this legendary Hawkeye -- willingly bound beneath him, wanting him. When Phil finally positioned and slid onto Clint’s cock, it was the heated slide of home.

Groaning Phil’s name, Clint tensed his stomach to grind beneath Phil. Phil gave in to the desire to let Clint do most of the work. He rode the archer, letting their eye contact speak volumes. Because he was the type who read and researched everything, Phil knew that Clint’s eye color was called glasz: green-gray-gold. Fitting for a man like Clint. Difficult to pin down. Beautiful. More depth than at first glance.

He was dwelling poetically on the color of Clint’s eyes. He was so hopelessly smitten. He didn’t care.

“So fucking good, Phil,” Clint said. “Touch yourself. Please. Let me see you come.”

“How can you even form words?”

Clint laughed. “Can’t touch you. Need to take you apart with my words.” He shifted beneath Phil again. “Haven’t felt this good in years. Let me watch you come apart, Phil.”

Phil bent down and took another kiss before Clint made him say something neither of them might be ready to hear. He nipped at Clint’s lips, his neck, along his collarbone where marks had already begun to show. His marks. Because Clint was his, here. He moved when Clint did, counting each undulation.

“You’re so thick in me,” Phil groaned. “Always feels so good.” He made sure Clint was watching and stroked himself while they moved together. They always moved together so well, in bed and on the job. “Clint...” He wasn’t sure whether it was a warning or a plea at this point.

“Come apart for me,” Clint murmured into Phil’s ear. “It’s hotter than anything you ever do to me.”

That admission was hotter than nearly everything they’d done tonight. Phil was safe to come apart for Clint. Safe to show the man how truly he was affected. Show Clint what the man did to him. Phil let himself go, scoring short lines with fingernails on Clint’s chest as he came.

Clint’s groan blended beautiful obscenities with Phil’s name as his climax followed. Possessively, Phil draped over Clint’s body while he caught his breath. He smiled when he felt Clint nudging kisses to his neck. It was unique to Clint as a partner that Phil wanted to stay close afterward. Somehow Clint had made him a cuddler.

Slowly, Phil remembered reality. He retrieved towels and cleaned them both. He gently removed the plug from Clint, causing a pleased shudder. He did as Clint had done and kissed the man’s wrists when he released the handcuffs. He thought maybe he knew why tonight felt different.

“Clint, I...”

“Don’t say it now.” Clint looked suddenly so tender.

“When can I say it?”

“When I can say it back.”

Phil looked at Clint, trying to show with his eyes what Clint was not ready to hear or say yet. “But you know, right?”

“I know.” Clint pulled Phil into a long kiss, showing just how much he understood. “Six years, Phil? Of course I know.”

Phil pressed their foreheads together. How had he ended up with this? How had he ever deserved it?

“Shhh, you,” Clint murmured. “Sleep. Not a good time for deep thoughts.” He kept his arms around Phil and settled in to sleep.

In the night, Phil woke to find himself spooned behind Clint. Maybe it was the warmth and the drowsiness. Maybe he needed to make it more real. More solid between them.

“I have to say it,” he whispered into the sleeping Clint’s warm shoulder. “I love you.”

Though Clint didn’t actually respond, Phil imagined the man subconsciously heard, and accepted. Clint could be exceptionally wise like that.


	12. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reluctance to return to the real world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint must be touch-starved but doesn’t let many people get emotionally close enough to touch him the way he needs and wants. One of the things I love about this pairing is how Clint can let Phil get emotionally close enough to fulfill those kind of needs.

If there was clinging that morning, neither of them admitted it.

Phil knew Clint was touch-starved in many ways. Friendly contact had been a rare thing in Clint’s life for a long time. The first time Phil had touched him -- a reassuring hand on the shoulder for reasons now forgotten -- Clint had visibly repressed a flinch. Phil knew the man’s history, but before that moment had not understood. He made an effort after that to teach Clint how positive touch could feel. It was all perfectly platonic before Budapest, though both men knew the undercurrent of desire. Casual touch, comfort touch, gradually became part of Clint’s world first.

Phil liked the warmth most. Another human’s proximity was perhaps the best thing about waking up in bed together. Sharing the night with someone felt more intimate than actual sex. Jokes about birds aside, this truly was Clint’s nest, and Phil got to share in it.

Clint shifted, pulling Phil closer. Phil spooned behind him and enjoyed the entirety of the man’s body in his arms.

Long-term was never Phil’s conscious intention. Somehow they’d ended up that way. Instead of a fight to stay superficial, they’d wound closer around each other. Not that Phil would change any of it. Clint’s steady heartbeat laid close to Phil’s own, here in bed where they could be close, be wrapped around each other without restrictions.

Phil laid a hand over Clint’s chest, feeling the warmth of skin and smattering of chest hair. He knew every part of Clint’s body. Clint giving of himself so fully still amazed Phil. Despite everything, Clint still believed in intimacy.

Smiling wryly at himself, Phil still found no regret at his own introspection this morning. He nuzzled Clint’s neck where the scent of last night still lingered.

“Mmm hi,” Clint mumbled, stretching into the press of Phil’s lips.

“Hi.” The early morning light made Phil feel like this was a cocoon, an interlude just for them. He was glad he’d stayed over.

Clint bent one leg and managed to hook his ankle over Phil’s. The extra and deliberate touch was more endearing than a good morning kiss. Right then, Phil decided he would try nearly any tactic to keep Clint right where he was.

“I don’t want the world to be out there,” Phil confessed.

“Then let’s not let it be.”

Simple. Determined. Purely Clint. Perfectly easy to answer, “Okay.”

Clint’s finger stroked over the back of Phil’s hand. In answer he pressed lightly into Clint’s pectoral muscle. He enjoyed the small vibration of Clint’s pleased hum. Cuddling, Phil thought, grinning at the incongruity of such gentleness between dangerous agents.

“I might take that Sweden mission Fury’s been going on about,” Clint said, “while you’re gone and all. It would occupy the time.”

“Request Shearing to go with you. She’s been wanting to practice her Swedish.”

“I did not know that. She’s also damn good on skis. We’re supposed to be roughing it into some yurt for the contact meeting.”

Phil chuckled. “You didn’t get enough snow on that thing three months ago?”

“I did, but you know I really like Sweden.”

“It’s irrational how much you like Sweden, Clint.”

Clint didn’t answer. He linked their fingers together over his chest. They breathed together for a while, content without words. Phil let his thoughts drift. Clint’s calm seemed as different from his eagerness the night before as was possible for a person. Clint was motion, usually, even when still, but this morning he almost lounged in Phil’s arms. The night had been more than play. Magnificent, in Clint’s words. Their give and take was so good.

“Romanoff is already out in Malibu,” Phil said. “Any missions you take, do them right, okay?” He couldn’t bring himself to say be careful.

“I will.” Clint’s smile was audible, and Phil’s heart skittered.


	13. Pining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Phil baby-sits Tony Stark, Clint misses him. Late night phone calls and flirty messages ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint really is a professional. He just shows it differently and has his own balance between casual joking and his ability to be serious. Renner played him rather seriously, but I think that’s Clint’s ultra professional on-duty persona. There are hints of his humor in the MCU, which this fic is set in. I find serious Renner!Clint as appealing as snarky comics!Clint.

“How the hell do you manage him, Coulson?” Sitwell all but whined into the phone, on speaker so Clint could hear the inevitable reprimand.

“It’s not that difficult,” came Coulson’s tinny voice.

“See?” Clint pointed at the phone. “You just have to understand me.” He grinned at Sitwell.

“Don’t give him extra trouble, Barton.”

Clint batted his eyelashes as though the gesture was visible over the phone. “Never dream of it, sir.”

Sitwell flailed a bit. “He’s been shooting people with that Nerf bow again, Coulson!”

Coulson’s sigh carried all the way from Malibu. “Be thankful he’s not flicking those orange circus peanut candies at junior staff again, Jasper. Remember how you failed your last promotion because of your response.”

Sitwell buried his face in his hands, and Clint burst out laughing. “Oh, nice job, Coulson! You hear that?”

“Is he face palming?”

“So very hard, sir.”

Coulson sighed again, followed by the sound of ominous thuds in the background. “I need to investigate that. Sitwell...learn how to handle a prankster.” He paused. “Barton. Take me off speaker for a moment.”

Clint plucked Sitwell’s phone from the man’s hand, switching to standard sound as he brought it to his ear. “Yo?” he said, just to be obnoxious.

“Don’t give him more trouble than he deserves,” Phil murmured -- and it had switched to Phil now. “Jasper doesn’t appreciate the humor, and he won’t make Level 7 until he does.”

“Can I at least use the horse head if I send pictures?”

“You know that’s supposed to wait for the next quarterly evals.”

“Yeah, okay.” There were other things Clint wanted to say, like ‘I miss you,’ but Sitwell was waiting. “I forget how you appreciate it more than the other handlers.”

“Barton, are you sticking your tongue out at Jasper?”

“...Yes.”

“There are better uses for that tongue, hawk.”

Oh, wow, Clint hoped he wasn’t blushing. He licked his lips. “Yes, sir.”

A moment passed that would have been brief, except this was Phil Coulson. “Call me tonight. Nine o’clock, your time.”

Clint swallowed. Blushing was past his worries; he hoped he wasn’t getting an inappropriate erection. “Yes, sir,” he repeated.

Sitwell eyed Clint as he took his phone back. “How does he manage that?”

Clint smirked. “Magic.” He waved his fingers at Sitwell and headed for the shooting range.

A solid hour of target practice had Clint feeling somewhat more relaxed. Not only was Phil gone on that damned op, but so was Natasha, and Clint had forgotten how much he appreciated having them around. They were his team. SHIELD was only a job otherwise. He’d rarely been Agent Barton without Agent Coulson and Black Widow; when his clearance level rose, he was mostly Coulson’s asset. Not necessarily because he was too difficult to work with, but because he and Coulson and Natasha worked so well. All their missions together had definitely spoiled him.

The bottom line? It didn’t feel right anymore to be on duty without them. Fuck this. He couldn’t even gossip with Natasha. She was off enjoying Malibu too, the little super spy.

“Barton, I don’t believe you’re aware of how creepy your internal monologue face is.”

Clint blinked up from his bow disassembling to see Hill smirking at him. “Hey, my thinky face is dead handsome.”

“It’s deader than your resting face.”

Clint grinned. He and Hill didn’t often work well together on missions, but she understood him. If she was taking the time to insult him, she considered him a friend. “Careful, I might take offense to that, and have to challenge you for my honor.”

Hill rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Your penis is bigger, you’re awesome, excuse me, I have range time reserved with something newer than the Stone Age.”

Dramatically Clint clutched at his chest. “Oh, the wound!”

Hill flipped him a halfhearted middle finger before heading to her reserved range. Clint was grateful for the unintentional reminder that he belonged. He missed his two favorites, but he didn’t need to brood.

What he really missed was the warmth in his bed. Phil had only stayed over twice. Clint already wanted more. Something made him take the leap in the first place and allow Phil to stay the night. They’d slept in the same room, the same bed, on missions, after sex, but not at Clint’s apartment. But when Phil had directly asked, of course Clint didn’t let him go.

Wonderful. He was dropping into maudlin again. Maybe he should break out his stash of those weird orange peanut candies anyway. It was less likely to earn him a reprimand than constructing makeshift hallway obstacle courses for the recruits. (No matter how amusing Fury eventually found them.)

Somehow Clint occupied himself through the day and evening. If part of that was languishing in his bed imagining those “better uses” for his tongue that Phil had hinted at, then he was a grown adult and he could do that. He was certainly imagining adult things.

What was Phil planning? Phil Coulson never gave instructions without plans. Please let it be something like phone sex...

His phone chirped. Someone (Natasha) thought it amusing (annoying) to set his custom message alert to a robin song. Clint rolled to the side of the bed to fetch his phone from the nightstand. If Natasha was messaging him, he would have the clearance to hear about mission things. It was always more relaxing when he didn’t have to pretend he didn’t know things.

/Tell me not to kill her

That was ominous. Clint didn’t know of any “her” on this mission who could irritate Natasha that much.

-Uh dont kill her

/How is Pepper better at wrangling targets?

-Another awesome lady be her friend

/Coulson already her BFF, HOW?

-Coulson awesome duh

/Stop fanboying and tell me not to go Widow on Potts and Stark

-Dont be widow on them  
-?*  
-Does tasha have crush

/STFU  
/Watch news for Stark u recluse

Clint had already heard about Iron Man and Tony Stark. Lucky Phil and Natasha, in the middle of the excitement while Clint was bored at headquarters. Fury was building something. Too bad it didn’t require Clint yet.

-Tasha you can do it

A long pause. He could picture Natasha scowling. Maybe she was lonely too?

/Thank you

Clint sent her a smiley face and laid his phone on the bed. Nearly three months without Phil. He’d thought the separation would be easy. How the hell was he capable of pining? It was barely even the sex he missed. He wanted Phil’s voice, his smirk, his scent for fuck’s sake. Clint knew what this was. He knew he was reluctant to let Phil say that he cared. It was after all a four letter word, and Clint’s past had never been a safe place for that word. His time in the circus had left him with additional superstitions, like not saying things out loud to prevent ruining the good in them. But he’d made a part of a promise to Phil too: he would at some point say it. He would at some point let Phil say it.

And he knew. Clint knew when he saw Phil’s eyes. He knew when he heard the man switch from Agent Coulson to Phil. He knew that he and Phil had no personal space with each other. Eventually they would need a relationship talk.

Clint rubbed his hands over his face. His thing with Phil was the most permanent he’d ever had. He wanted it. He was pretty sure Phil wanted it permanent too. The problem was his fear of saying so. Caring wasn’t the same as needing, wasn’t the same as...

What a mindset to call Phil on. Clint was likely to mope about missing the other man. Of course they missed each other! Clint just didn’t know what to so with his need for Phil.

Physically shaking himself, Clint gathered his guts and called Phil’s private number.

“Tell me it’s quiet there,” Phil said in place of hello.

“The most hectic it’s been was the new batch of recruits thinking they could take Hill in hand-to-hand.”

“How many limbs are still intact?”

Clint chuckled. “About half of them.”

Phil’s response was not quite a chuckle. “That would be relaxing, comparatively. Stark is the worst diva, and I used to handle Agent Sterling.”

Clint relaxed back on the bed, glad to have Phil’s voice in his ear again. “Tasha was just texting me about someone called Pepper. Don’t let Widow break the civilian, Phil.”

“Oh, Pepper can hold her own with Romanoff. Some of the agents at HQ should take lessons from her in calm under insanity.”

“Aww, new BFF, Phil?”

“We...connected.” Phil sounded a bit sheepish.

“She sounds like good people.” Clint finally felt relaxed for the day.

“I can’t tell her about you. If Pepper asks, I’ll have to tell her about Marja.”

“Yeah.” Clint understood. Marja was a good friend of the Coulson family, fully cleared to provide cover story for certain situations, such as when someone like Clint wasn’t supposed to exist. “Hey, did she ever take my advice and try her hand at the violin?”

“No, she went with the cello.”

“A cellist from Portland. Damn, that sounds like an overdramatic romance novel. Or Lifetime movie material.”

Phil did his not-chuckle again. “Pepper might be worth obtaining the clearance for,” he said after a moment. “I’ll introduce you as soon as she has it.”

The fact that Phil wanted to introduce Clint to someone was frightening and touching at once. Suddenly he was in that category of significant other, and Phil had put him there. Then again, the more Clint thought about it, the less frightening it was. His history with romantic relationships was shit, except with Phil. They hadn’t been trying, and they’d lasted for years.

“...Clint?”

“’M here. Just...thinking.”

“About?”

How to say it? Phil meant so much to him, and his simple acknowledgement of Clint meant even more. “I...miss you.”

The sound of Phil’s breathing, however many miles away, filtered through the phone. “I want to touch you.”

A wave of delicious longing curled just under Clint’s skin. “Same here. I could touch myself, but I don’t really want to, and that should be weirder than it is, right?”

“Maybe. Aren’t we more than sex?”

“Of course we are.” Clint licked his lips. “Just...never outright mentioned it.”

“I know it isn’t an ideal time, and we’re pretty idiotic-”

“You’re too damn far away, is what isn’t ideal, Phil.” Clint rolled onto his stomach. “I’m laying here looking at my headboard and wanting to use the handcuffs again, and I also probably won’t sleep well tonight because fuck’s sake this is so sentimental but the bed doesn’t smell like you anymore, and that has never occurred to me until-”

“Clint.”

Clint sighed into the phone. “Maybe we should have been less idiotic before now.”

When Phil spoke he sounded a bit frayed. “Defining what we have, what it’s been for years, would that be a good idea?”

He wished he could see Phil’s face for this. “I don’t know. Would it just be pinning words down? That’s a lot like building a cage for something that doesn’t need one.”

Phil’s smile was audible. “That’s better than I could have put it.”

A responding grin pulled at Clint’s lips. “We’re both kind of nuts, you know.”

“As long as it isn’t pistachio; you know I hate those.”

A laugh huffed involuntarily out of Clint. “I’ll eat them for you.”

“It’s a good thing I am thousands of miles away. I am not kissing you with pistachio breath.”

Hell, Clint thought, this had to be love. If they weren’t both certifiable, they had to be a match.

They listened to each other breathe over the distance. After a while, Clint confessed, “I’m safe to be a sap here. I miss you, Phil. Want you near.”

“Same.” The warmth in that one word was a balm to the ears. “Send more texts. It’s driving Stark crazy that his AI won’t help him unlock my phone to see them.”

Clint laughed. “I won’t even make most of them dirty.”


	14. Legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent Coulson’s mythos and Nick Fury’s support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pleasant surprise in this part was Clint’s desire for more romantic things when I allowed his voice to have more freedom. Also, Fury would be protective of them both and bury either of them if they hurt the other, so they damn well better be gigantic saps.
> 
> Warning: Slight homophobia, or stereotyping of men in same-sex relationships.

“Chuck Norris wishes he was Phil Coulson.”

“The thing about Coulson is, enough of the legends about him are true, that you can believe anything someone says about him.”

Clint liked office gossip for its potential intel. What people chose to snicker about in the break room told a lot about who they were. What people were willing to believe said volumes. It may have helped that the day’s rumors made him feel oddly closer to Phil. Clint sat doing his invisible thing, something even Natasha marveled at. He could sit in a crowded room and no one would notice him. Great for his job, and amusing on his own time.

“Do you know how he told me I’d made Level 5? He showed me how to draw blood with a file folder.”

Clint couldn’t resist chuckling at the small pod of agents. “Wait until Level 6,” he said. “He’ll show you what you can do with sticky notes.”

The Level 5 agent (Marsing? Martyr? M-something?) laughed with Clint, earning herself points for not startling. A couple of the others looked wary. “And who knows what he’s taught you, sir,” she said to Clint. “Since you’re his favorite.”

Clint had long since stopped trying to deny that. Nobody took issue with it, because Coulson was not one to show any favoritism perks on the job. Being called sir was actually weirder. Part of him knew he’d earned it, and part of him was still the inadequate orphan. He supposed he was finally at that age when newbies thought he deserved to be called sir.

“Hey, I taught him plenty, thank you very much.”

A much younger specialist, newly transferred, raised an eyebrow. “So the epic stories of you and Agent Coulson are not actually false rumors?”

That showed guts. Clint approved. He would thus acknowledge the rumors. “All the stories about Coulson and me are unaltered truth,” he said. “All of them.”

M-agent (pretty sure it was Marsing) rolled her eyes. “The stories about you giving birth to Agent Coulson’s twin love children?”

Clint outright smirked. “That one is especially true. Our ass-babies are beautiful.” He wiped away a fake tear.

“Oh my god,” the junior transfer muttered. “If this wasn’t SHIELD, I wouldn’t believe it, but Agent Coulson probably is capable of impregnating a man.”

Clint clapped the young man on the shoulder. “It was so very romantic. Coulson brought me flowers and bought me dinner. We did that spaghetti thing like in Lady and the Tramp.”

Marsing giggled. “Does that make you the Tramp, or Lady?”

“Clearly I’m no lady,” Clint said, to the sniggering of the others. “Flowers and food? Naturally I’m a tramp for that.”

“Didn’t know you were into gay stuff...sir,” the junior muttered.

The group looked at the young man, then to Clint for his reaction. Clint made a mental note to mention the possible homophobia to the kid’s superior. “I’m into bi stuff, for the record,” he said in his own version of a reprimanding tone. “Does that make a difference?”

“I just...I mean, sir, you’re so...masculine? And Agent Coulson...”

“Hey, gay sex is at least fifty percent more manly than straight sex. Unless it’s lesbian sex. Then it’s at least fifty percent less manly than straight sex. Nothing manlier than two guys fucking,” Clint finished with a wink.

The group burst into laughter except for the one, who was suitably embarrassed, and the situation was defused. Marsing might even have winked at Clint. The group dissolved back to its break room gossip and Clint made himself a coffee.

Clint didn’t care if the rumors said he and Phil were fucking. He supposed it was better not to divulge, or he might have outright told them all. The thing about rumors was, it worked better not to outright deny anything. Between himself and Phil, the other was most important. No secret was made of their handler-asset history together. The good agents learned how to defer to that mutual protectiveness.

Clint and Coulson sealed together like some interlocking puzzle. Natasha once said the hardest thing about joining them was earning that belonging to their original two-man band. He and Phil sleeping together hadn’t changed the whole dynamic.

“I’m surprised you’re not adding to the Coulson-is-Chuck-Norris rumors,” Sitwell said slyly as he joined Clint near the coffee machine.

“Nah, the juniors do that just fine.”

Sitwell shrugged. He said he would monitor the new junior transfer for any other indications of prejudice, then found a seat next to Marsing, who surprisingly latched him into conversation.

As Clint left the break room, he heard Marsing ask Sitwell, “So what’s really with Barton and Coulson?”

“It’s like Fight Club. We don’t talk about it.”

Clint approved of that. The less information, the scarier the rumors, which worked in their favor. He felt a strange pride in how badass his Phil was, how deserving of the outlandish rumors.

“Barton!” came Hill’s distinctive bark down the hallway. “Go tell Fury you’re going to teach that hand-to-hand course, already. It is not in my job description to track you down and nag.”

Clint sighed. “Aw, but the newbies all suck so much!”

“I know. Think of it as percussive therapy.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds like a present. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Happy New Year,” Hill deadpanned.

Oh, it was nearly the new year. Clint’s first thought was regret that he wouldn’t be spending it with Phil. They’d had some memorable ones before. Not always pleasant, but memorable. It figured that when Clint finally might want a romantic New Year’s Eve, his other half was across the country.

To distract himself, Clint went to tell Fury that yes, he would teach that combat class to the baby recruits. He would even try to keep from scaring them too much.

“Scare them all you want,” Fury said. “If Hawkeye intimidates them, they’re not cut out for SHIELD.”

Clint favored Fury with a playful salute just as his phone beeped. It was a harried text from Phil.

/Stark’s party will kill me. Farewell cruel world

Fury laughed at Clint’s expression. “I hated inflicting Tony Stark on Coulson, but could you imagine Sitwell handing him?”

Clint gawked at the Director. “I would say it’s creepy how you know it’s Coulson, but it’s you, sir.”

“Damn right. Tell him I’m sorry his guy can’t be with him for smooches when the Times Square ball drops. What?”

“Okay, it is creepy how you support us.”

Fury propped his elbows on his desk and fixed his eye on Clint. “I’ve known Cheese since sometime prior to forever. I don’t quite understand it, but I am not going to prevent the good you have with him.” He gestured to Clint’s phone. “Tell him I’m sorry.”

-Fury says sorry i cant be there for smooches

/He’s an ass and tell him remember Aruba 1991

When Clint relayed the message, Fury laughed. “I love that motherfucker, I really do.”

That makes two of us, Clint almost said. He wished he could say it as easily as Fury did. As it was, Clint felt part of a privileged group to even know how close Fury and Phil were.

“Barton.” Fury was studying him. “You do know how you act around him?”

Clint blinked. “What?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s territorial because you’re subtler than that, but your body language...”

“My body language, what?” He wouldn’t normally dare snap at Fury, but this was about Phil.

“Don’t get your panties all twisted, Barton. He does the same thing around you. How do you think the juniors got their ideas for their rumors?” Fury leaned back and steepled his fingers under his chin with his usual self-satisfied grin in place.

“...Shit.”

Fury stared him down. “It’s not bad, Barton. The two of you were epic as soon as you met. If you two and Romanoff ever take over the world, please let me be your henchman.”

“Sir, you know how the Evil Overlord list goes. It never works out well for the henchmen.”

“First time for everything. You think Nick motherfucking Fury didn’t write half that list?”

Clint’s phone beeped again before he could respond enough even to laugh.

/Sucks we can’t be together on New Year’s

Clint didn’t know what his expression gave away, but he knew Fury’s sigh was unusually indulgent. He texted a reply that he would call soon. Another sentimental thing was his need to hear Phil’s voice.

“The more I think about it,” Fury said, “the more sense you two make together. And if that makes me sentimental, well, love is hard to find in this job.”

“Yeah,” Clint murmured, “it is.”


	15. Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Reach out and touch someone,” the saying goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this chapter with the assumption that Clint would be excellent at phone sex. Then Phil surprised me with his skill at it. I should have expected that.

“Agent Martinez in HR still has that huge crush on you,” Clint said during one of the long, late night phone calls with Phil that he now saw as the best part of his day.

“I thought she was seeing that nurse from Brooklyn Hospital. What was his name...Adam?”

“She can still crush on someone. I think she and Adam agreed that you were her freebie...it wouldn’t break up their relationship if she ever got a chance with you.”

“Seriously, Barton...”

“I’m going to tell you again, Phil. There’s a Coulson fan club. They meet for a support group on the second floor every other Tuesday.”

It never mattered if Phil was silent. The disbelieving head shake was almost audible. Clint grinned. Maybe they weren’t advertising their relationship, but he still felt prideful about having hooked office hottie Coulson.

“I’m not asking how you know about these meetings,” Phil said.

“Just let the knowledge feed your ego.”

“I know I’m not...ugly.” Phil paused. “It just...SHIELD has some amazingly attractive people on the payroll.” His voice dropped. “You especially, hawk.”

Clint shivered on his end of the phone. “Yeah. Good to know my hard work pays off as such eye candy.”

“Hey. Clint. You’re more than-”

“I know. So are you, babe.”

They breathed quietly for several moments. The distance between them was no less frustrating. Clint ached to show Phil in person just why he deserved that fan club. His field agent abilities were half the reason the younger staff dreamed about Phil, but a vocal part of those club meetings went on about his looks too. Some of them grew out of it, but some had an ironclad preference for older men. Clint wasn’t sure if he did, or if it was just his connection with Phil.

“Hey,” Clint said, “haven’t you ever fantasized about someone from work? I don’t count, by the way. You have me in reality.”

Phil hesitated. “I don’t-”

“How about Beth Davis in Receiving? I’ve had dreams about her ‘receiving’ me.”

“Don’t be crude, Clint.”

“No, it’s okay. It was years ago. I told her once, and she laughed at me so much, my cock shrank. Turns out, she’s ace.”

“Wait. Davis is the one who makes those sinful butterscotch-chip cookies.”

“Yep. She traded recipes with me for mine of the strong man’s stone soup. So. If you ever need a fix of butterscotch...”

“Only you could turn confession of a dirty dream into a friendship.”

Clint laughed. One simply needed to have a sense of humor about rejection. He had had his share of it, despite what other office rumors said.

“Come on, Phil. Share your dirty dream. Who have you fantasized about?”

Mentally, Clint dug in to wait Phil through his silence. He wouldn’t be worth his pay if he couldn’t wait someone out.

When Phil finally spoke, it was unusually subdued, “Natasha.”

Clint sat up from where he’d been reclined on his bed. “No way.”

“When she first joined. It was like I shot right back to high school, and my own dreams were taunting me.”

Clint didn’t know whether to console Phil or to laugh. “Wow. Okay, she is hot, of course. She told me she tried her old seduction thing on you, just to see what kind of senior staff SHIELD had. Said you were the biggest gentleman.”

“I knew she was trying to make me into a mark. I told her she was worth so much more.”

“She is. Good call, boss.”

Phil hummed on the other end of the line. “She’s gorgeous,” he admitted. “But I haven’t had a dream about her like that in a long time.”

“Bummer. It must suck being a monk, out there in sexy Malibu.”

“I didn’t specify I had no dreams,” Phil murmured.

It took Clint less than a moment to catch on. He grinned. “Really, now?”

“Yes.” Phil’s voice was nothing short of a purr. “I believe I’ve found another inspiration. A muse for my dreams.”

Only Phil Coulson could make phone sex poetic. “Mmm, well I hope this muse has a starring role in those dreams.”

“Center stage.”

How did two words make Clint’s spine shiver? Phil Coulson, that’s how. He lay out slowly on his bed again. The ceiling shone a soft gray from the light of Clint’s nightstand lamp, the only light in the room. The blanket beneath him was cool and comfortable. Propping his phone between ear and shoulder, Clint slid his hands down over his thighs. Just appreciating the soft denim, warm from his own body.

“You did say I was inspirational,” Clint murmured.

“Most muses are for...cleaner purposes. You -- god, Clint, tell me what you’re doing right now.”

“Just lying in bed, on top of the covers. It’s quiet here. Soft, almost. Feels like another world. Just us.”

“Have I ever said how sexy your voice is?”

That was something. “Don’t think so,” Clint said.

Phil’s slow inhale made Clint breathe deeply in parallel. “It’s this warm drawl, like velvet over sand.”

That should be an absurd image, but it wasn’t. Clint pressed one palm into his quad muscle, just to ground himself a little. “Is it?” he said.

“Yes.” A pause. “That time in Bolivia, when we were stuck in that stupid cabin because I had that fever...did I just imagine you talking to me through the worst of it?”

Clint gasped at the memory. For a few hours, he’d been terrified. “That was me,” he said. “I thought if you had something familiar to hear, you wouldn’t-”

“I clung to your voice, Clint.”

“Phil.” His voice was only a whisper now.

“Fuck. Clint. If I was there right now, I’d kiss the source of that voice, just kiss all over your neck.”

“You think my voice is something to get worked up about? Phil, you have no idea how often I fight inappropriate hardons just because you’re being all calm in my ear comm.”

“Speaking of ears, you don’t know how difficult it is to see those old piercing scars in your earlobes and not bite them.”

“Oh god, really? Should I get them repierced, so you can suck on them?” Clint drifted one hand over the uncomfortably growing bulge in his fly.

“Those gold hoops you wore,” Phil purred, “they made me want to run my tongue through them.” A meaningful pause. “You’d better be touching yourself.”

“Not yet. Still have my jeans on.”

“Take your cock out.”

How could he disobey an order like that? It was delivered in Phil’s confident command tone, the one that made men twice his size jump to comply. Carefully Clint opened his jeans and slid his dick from the denim confines. He switched his phone to the other ear to free his dominant hand for touching.

“Okay,” Clint said, not really capable of more words.

“I can picture it,” Phil said. “Fuck, your cock is beautiful, Clint. And your hand...those strong fingers...I might have a thing for your hands.”

“You have a thing for my everything.”

“Yes.” Phil’s breathing went soft for a moment. “Commlinks are going to be a bit kinky now, but I don’t really care.”

Clint chuckled. He tried to picture Phil: maybe the man was in bed too, staying in some opulent rooms in Tony Stark’s ridiculously rich mansion. He hoped the job wasn’t too stressful, that Phil could enjoy some of Malibu’s luxuries. Clint closed his eyes to picture his Phil in bed. It was a very nice picture.

“You still in your suit?” Clint asked after a while.

“Most of it. You want me to do something about that?”

“Mmm, Phil. Take your cock out.”

A warm sound on the phone made Clint shiver just a bit. Thank goodness their phones were the securest technology possible, because no one should get to eavesdrop on this. Clint looked down at himself, needing a brief visual. He was so hard. Phil’s voice had done that.

“Wish I could see you,” Phil said, “not just my mental image.”

“It’s a really good image, babe, believe me.”

“I’m sure. I want to touch you, want to taste you.”

Clint’s hand stuttered. “Yes. Damn. Need you to suck me.”

“How would my voice sound after you grabbed me and fucked my throat?”

Too turned on to be embarrassed at the sound he made, Clint’s hips arched into his own grip. Overactive, his imagination provided an image of his cock filling Phil’s mouth. He groaned. With a slide of his fingers, he spread the leaking slickness over his length and wished it really was Phil.

“You would sound so good all fucked out,” Clint growled.

“Want it,” Phil said. “I’m greedy for that cock. All mine. Want it every way I can get it. All the time.”

“How about stretching your lips and weighing down your tongue?”

“Yes,” Phil gasped. “Want -- god, you could grab my head and make me swallow it.”

“Mmmmhh, Phil...”

“I know, hawk. Fuck. My hand isn’t as good. Wish it was you.”

“Yessss. Feels so good, touching you for real. Hot and hard and perfect.” Clint slid his grip tighter over himself. “That thing you do with your thumb...gets me every fucking time.”

“I should do it with my tongue.”

Oh, hell. That was it. Clint came in rolling bursts, gasping into the phone. As he floated down, he heard Phil’s breathing change. Yes. Hearing Phil’s climax was almost as good as seeing it. He pictured Phil arching off the bed as the man practically whimpered.

“That was...” Clint struggled for the words. “So damn sexy, babe.”

Phil hummed agreement. “I think I ruined this shirt, but I don’t care.”


	16. Thor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reunion. It goes about how you’d expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the scene from Thor that launched a ship. I finally get to write my version. Many other fans have discussed their perspective on the Hawkeye cameo, so won’t write a huge essay about it now. Personally, I love what we can read between the lines. I love how the dialogue hints at a long and comfortable working relationship full of trust. It’s a small step for shippers to jump from canon dialogue to developing a romantic relationship between these two.

He was just about done with this entire thing. Not done as in assignment completed unfortunately, but fed up with the bizarreness of it all. Norse-type runes in the desert, on an immovable giant sledgehammer. Angry physicists. Confused and incompetent agents.

And he hadn’t seen Clint in months.

Maybe he and Clint should have formalized their relationship. SHIELD made allowances for agents’ mental health and accommodated couples. Right now Coulson’s mental health was downright awful without the sort of emotional support Clint always brought.

Hawkeye was supposed to arrive at the Puente Antiguo location within the next day, but Phil hadn’t seen him yet. He imagined Clint driving the same route, hearing tales of that gas station incident, sweating in the heat that penetrated the best air conditioning, stopping late at night to count the stars he could see with that amazing vision. Yes, Phil had it bad. He didn’t care. Clint Barton would be a refreshing breeze of friendship, filling the gaps Sitwell couldn’t.

To distract himself, Phil replayed memories of their phone calls. Clint would always say he missed Phil. That was a big thing. Knowing Clint and his personal kind of superstition, mentioning something like that out loud meant it was important enough to risk jinxing. Basically, Clint risked ruining the relationship by saying he liked it. Weirdly logical for someone who’d spent his formative years in a circus.

Speaking of weird. It was raining. “Really?” he grumbled to no one. And oh, hey, perimeter breach by a huge blond guy. For fuck’s sake.

“I need eyes up high, with a gun.”

Barely twenty seconds after his terse order, Coulson saw a familiar figure running through the fresh mud of the compound. Clint. There was no mistaking the silhouette of a bow or the man’s particular build. Coulson strode to a better vantage point of the crane swaying above the action.

“Barton, talk to me.”

“You want me to slow him down, sir?” came the warm gravelly voice over the comm. “Or are you sending in more guys for him to beat up?”

Classic Barton snark. Pushing down the warm surge to his heart, Coulson said, “I’ll let you know.”

If this was why other handlers complained about working with Clint, they clearly weren’t worth their clearance level. If other agents only saw the smirk and heard the snark, they lost out on a privilege. Working with Hawkeye was an experience.

The towering blond of a man made easy fools of several excellent agents. It was objectively impressive. This stranger was beyond determined.

“You better call it, Coulson,” Clint said. “’Cause I’m starting to root for this guy.”

To be honest, so was Phil. He almost wanted to call out over the rain and offer the man a job. Whoever this was, he headed for the hammer like he was its rightful owner. The easily impressed ten-year-old still buried inside Phil almost wanted the stranger to win.

“Last chance, sir.”

He glanced toward the aerial post Clint had created. Though difficult to see in the dark, Phil knew that professional restrained tone enough to picture Clint’s pose. His concentration would be drawn tightly as his bow, his thumb caressing the side of his face in a Hawkeye mannerism. Waiting as he always did for Phil’s word.

“Wait, I want to see this,” Phil told his sniper. He didn’t need to look again to know Clint held.

It was a lot like a climactic scene from a movie. A cliche edge of the seat moment, with music swelling. The big stranger clearly expected a lot from the artifact, and Phil would admit to holding his breath for just a while when the blond reached for the hammer. No way, the man’s body language said, would he fail to raise it when no one else could.

It was all the more disheartening when the hammer did not budge. The large man on his knees, caked with mud and probably tears beneath the rain, bowed his head like a convict beneath the executioner. It felt, Phil thought, fancifully, like a private moment.

“All right, show’s over,” Phil said, breaking the moment because he had to. “Ground units move in.” He swore he felt Clint watching sympathetically from above.

 

\- - - - -

 

Donald Blake, his lily-white ass that was the man’s real name. For as defeated as the man looked, he was infuriatingly tight-lipped. Phil allowed himself a moment of frustration outside the interrogation cell. People didn’t respect a government agent like they used to.

“Okay, so you and Barton? That was the most sexually charged dialogue I’ve ever heard.”

Phil looked over to Sitwell, who was smirking at him. Of course. Because the man’s teasing was precisely what Phil needed at the moment.

“Just saying, “ Sitwell continued, “if you two haven’t after all these years, you really should do something about all that sexual tension.”

“Are you next in line to make a move if I don’t?” Phil challenged.

Sitwell shook his head. “I’m as straight as they come, but if I was tapping that, I sure as hell would brag. And I know you aren’t ruler-straight, Phil, and he acts willing enough...”

Phil put on his best blandly amused face. “Bragging is not a character trait you and I share, Jasper.”

Sitwell’s double take was a sight to behold. “Wait. Does that mean you have...?”

“It means, not your business, Jasper.”

Sitwell held up his hands in surrender. “Truce, Phil. We’re all tired and wired out here.” He laid a hand on Phil’s arm. “Go take a break. Have a coffee in your office, or something. I’ll make sure these idiots don’t let another blond weirdo break in for at least fifteen minutes.”

The man always gave sane advice. Nodding his thanks, Phil made his way to his tiny field office. He kept a drip coffee maker wherever a base had electricity. Not that he was above swilling the cafeteria sludge with the junior staff, but he functioned better when caffeinated from his own supply.

The door was cracked open a few inches. It was a signal he’d taught his colleagues: if you needed to wait in his office privately, leave the door slightly cracked. A door left halfway open meant something else, as did one fully closed. It was a dangerous move to wait for Phil in his office with the door closed, however.

Phil expected a junior agent with an awkward question. Somehow they found him to help counsel them through the first few missions that intimidated them. Usually he was glad to do it, but now he was tired. The adrenaline of earlier had ebbed away. Phil stepped into the office with a gentle reprimand on his tongue.

Clint. In the flesh. Not eyes up high, or on the other end of a phone line. He was leaning on the cheap desk, looking up at Phil through his eyelashes.

Goddamn, he’d missed the man. Phil latched the door and took two long steps toward Clint. He grasped the man’s face and kissed him, pressing closer when he felt Clint’s grin. Clint smelled like rain and metal. He tasted as good as he always did.

Arms slid around Phil’s waist. A warm tongue traced Phil’s lips. Even with tongue and a bit of teeth, it wasn’t as hotly desperate as Phil had imagined their reunion. It was passion and joy.

When he pulled back enough for air, Clint rested his forehead against Phil’s. “Hi,” he said, smile soft just for Phil.

Phil kissed him again briefly, then simply held the man. Breathing each other in again. Warmth and belonging. Phil would joke about pining, but he suspected Clint felt the same. To be honest, Phil stood no chance against sentiment when it came to Clint.

“It has to be midnight,” Clint said. “Is there a chance we can leave without feeling neglectful of the job?”

Phil’s fingers played in Clint’s hair. It was still damp. “It’s a good time to pull rank and tell everyone I’m taking you off-site for enforced rest.”

A wicked smile crept across Clint’s lips. “Kidnapping the specialist. I do approve.” He squeezed his grip around Phil’s waist. “Though I would still be happy working, as long as we’re in the same room. It’s been too fucking long, Phil.”

That comment required another moment of kissing. God, he never wanted to lose the taste of Clint again.

Instructions to Phil’s motel given, the men parted ways. They weren’t hiding the relationship, but discretion was the wiser choice. Especially if Sitwell was looking for gossip.

 

\- - - - - 

 

Once at the motel, Clint pushed Phil into the room with a predatory bent to his movements. Phil had somehow forgotten what beauty coiled in Clint’s physique. Well, that meant he would just have to rediscover it.

Phil savored the frission of desire that crawled beneath his skin. Clint’s expression was lecherous intent. During those months apart, they hadn’t done a lot of phone sex, but Clint’s dirty talk when they did was part promise to do things for real when they were back together. Thinking of that promise made Phil shudder before Clint even touched him.

When they stood toe to toe, Clint simply looked at Phil. “Don’t know where to start,” he said, looking young for a moment.

Curling arms around Clint’s waist, Phil held them together. “I remember saying over the phone that I wanted to touch you. We could just do that.”

“Yeah, but I also want to fuck you into next week.”

Not sure whether to laugh or moan, Phil did a bit of both. “As long as it’s you,” he said, “I don’t have a preference for anything.” He leaned in and kissed Clint on the jaw. “Just you.”

“As long as it’s me,” Clint echoed. “Makes me want to be all territorial.” He angled his head to catch Phil with a kiss on the mouth. “Are you mine, Phil Coulson? Legendary badass with a damn bag of flour...”

“So you heard about that.”

“It’s already local legend. Wish I coulda seen it in person.” Clint nuzzled along Phil’s chin. “I knew those donuts would get you one day.”

“Oh, please,” Phil scoffed. “Should we get you the security tapes, so you can spend your time with them, since you’re so impressed?”

“Tough choice.” Clint was smirking against Phil’s cheek. “Lousy convenience store footage, or the real Coulson in my arms? I just might not be able to choose.”

Phil slid his hands down to grip Clint’s ass. “Here I am, attempting to bias your choice.”

Laughing, Clint did the same to Phil’s ass. “Only because I know how you treat that part of my anatomy. And every other part.” He wiggled in Phil’s grip.

“God...Clint...” Suddenly taken with a wave of desire, Phil rubbed their hips together.

“I know,” Clint half-growled. “I had it in mind to pin you to that stupid cheap desk back on the compound. Would’ve made the rumors about us even better if someone walked in on that.” He nibbled at Phil’s earlobe. “Sitwell said our little dialogue already had the staff buzzing with new theories.”

“Can you not mention Jasper when you’re nibbling my ear?”

Laughing that gorgeous laugh again, Clint leaned in to kiss Phil deeply. Phil willingly walked backward toward the bed when Clint urged him. The slick tangle of their tongues told a lot of their feelings, betrayed all of their longing.

Phil pulled away only so he could tug at Clint’s jacket and shirt. The younger man did the same. Clint licked at Phil’s neck when he undid the man’s tie. Phil wondered if he tasted like rain too.

“Wanna feel all of you,” Clint said against Phil’s bare collarbone.

“Yes,” Phil murmured. He clutched at Clint’s naked back, reveling in the motion of muscle. Clint wasn’t the only territorial one. This power, this muscle and skin under his fingertips, was his. His privilege to touch.

Both down to their underwear, they tumbled to the bed, bouncing and laughing on the mattress. Clint’s body pinned Phil’s. His cool skin soon warmed as Phil reacquainted himself with it all. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, the saying went. Reuniting was even better.

“I say this should count as Christmas, New Year’s, and both our birthdays,” Clint said.

“Your birthday isn’t until next month.”

“Petty details.” Clint mouthed at Phil’s neck just the way Phil loved. “We’re celebrating it early because that nutball Fury might order us away again.” He rocked his hips, rubbing their cocks together through their underwear. “Fuck. Phone sex is terrible next to the real you.”

Phil clutched at Clint’s shoulder blades. “Nothing’s better than the real you,” he said. He felt Clint’s urgency as a song through his veins. “Take what you need, my hawk.”

Clint shivered. “Yes.”

Clint yanked at Phil’s underwear before shimmying out of his own. Phil reveled in the flexible power of Clint’s build. Possessiveness wasn’t usually in his nature, but the freedom of also belonging let him want that selfishness. For years he’d noticed Clint’s body language, had fielded teasing from people about how Clint angled himself into Phil’s space, and only enjoyed it.

Phil clenched the hair at Clint’s nape and tugged the man down for another kiss. Since their three-day wait at the safe house in St. Louis, Phil felt addicted to Clint’s kisses. That mouth could be as gentle and intense as it could be rough and snide. If Phil was brutally honest with himself, he could point to that after-mission wait time as when he fell in love.

The slow drag of their bodies together gave way to more urgent grinding. Clint’s cock against Phil’s was hot, velvety stone. Clint’s tongue in Phil's mouth was flexible, delicious abandon.

“I’m yours too,” Phil said beneath Clint’s lips.

Clint raised just enough to look down into Phil’s eyes. The low light from the nightstand lamp cast Clint’s dilated eyes into an eerie imitation of stained glass. Glasz. He didn’t know what his own eyes showed, but apparently Clint found something he needed in them. Clint rolled his hips hard, pulling a gasp from them both as their cocks slid together, precome slicking the way just enough.

“Clint...” Phil groaned. The name was like a blessing and a plea.

“Love how I make you say my name,” Clint said. “You say it differently than everyone else.”

Because this man was different than everyone else. Phil couldn’t say that, couldn’t explain with mere words. He bucked beneath Clint, wrapping a leg around the other man to anchor their bodies closer. Clint moved in slow, sliding movements, frotting on top of Phil with all of his beautiful grace.

They kept eye contact until the sweet friction of their bodies was too much. Phil clutched at Clint’s arms. His eyes slid closed and his head arched back into the pillow. Clint’s name left his lips again. He climaxed hard and slow, groaning and pulling to get Clint closer.

“Beautiful,” Clint said. His voice was reverent. “So beautiful when you come, babe. You’re all mine when you come.”

It was true. But then Clint was his when he came. Clint gasped, letting his own climax roll over him. The view was gorgeous: Clint’s neck arched, his muscles moved with the pleasure. Not for the first time, Phil was amazed that he brought forth that response in Clint. He was desirable enough to cause Clint’s orgasms.

“Mmmm...” Clint hummed, rolling them together still, rubbing their come into the skin of their bellies.

Chuckling, Phil held the man gently. Clint was often docile after climax. Phil soaked up the sensation of laziness, of deep satisfaction radiating between them. Powerful, deadly Hawkeye was all loose limbs in Phil’s arms.

Clint rolled onto his side, pulling Phil close for a kiss. Phil’s heart ached in the best way. This relaxed sensuality was something he never wanted to do without again.

Phil touched Clint’s face, his thumb stroking across Clint’s cheek. “I know you asked me not to say it,” he said, “but I need to say it. Clint. I love you.”

Clint’s eyes shone. He looked like he’d received an undeserved gift. His mouth worked without words and his hand came up to clasp Phil’s wrist. Phil felt a smile pull at his own lips. Clint’s reaction told everything about his supposedly hidden feelings for Phil.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Phil said. “Just take. I love you, and I want you to know it.”

Closing his eyes, Clint nudged a kiss into Phil’s palm. “Phil,” he murmured, and it was a blessing in return.

Phil smiled. His world was so much better now.


	17. BFFs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BAMF ladies make BAMF friends.

“Apparently, we are epic.”

They had reluctantly left the cocoon of the motel bed in order to prepare for the day. Morning kisses had the dual effect of fortifying and delaying them. Phil never resented his job, but mornings like this, mornings with Clint so close, made him wish for more uninterrupted vacation time. 

Clint was interfering with getting dressed by basically draping over Phil. If Phil had been a lesser man, he would have stayed with a warm Clint, down in the sheets and wrapped close by lazy, well-muscled arms.

“Who exactly says that we’re epic?”

He felt Clint shrug. Phil was trying to tie his shoes, but Clint decided the more enjoyable thing was to cuddle Phil, kneeling behind him on the bed. “New junior agent gossips, though it is said with respect,” Clint said. “And Fury himself. We’ve been epic since we met, he says.”

“Fury has a tendency to exaggerate.”

“Aw, Phil. You don’t think we’re epic? The poets all scramble to write odes to our epicness.”

“You’re thinking of dirty limericks, not poetic ones.”

Clint laughed. “There once was an agent named Phil...come on, help me rhyme.”

“No. You and your poor excuse for poetry are on your own.”

“Hey.” Clint nuzzled behind Phil’s ear. “Stop trying to be a buzz kill. When was the last time we got to wake up together?”

Phil squeezed Clint’s arm where it rested over his shoulder. “I know.” He kissed the inside of Clint’s wrist. Instead of confessing all the sensual things he wished he could stay and do with Clint, he asked, “What duty do you have today?”

“Like you don’t know, boss-man. I plugged into your rotation of base surveillance.”

It was standard plan whenever Phil was senior agent on-site. He’d created a roster of security, and the practice rarely failed. An agent with Clint’s clearance and specialty was a bit rare, but Clint was good at keeping subordinates alert.

“I’m repressing a ‘voyeur’ comment,” Phil said.

“No you’re not. I get to watch you work, and we’ll both enjoy it. You love it, you exhibitionist.” Clint paused. “You love me.”

Phil turned into Clint’s arms, watching the man’s face. Clint was so endearing like this. Not only did he lack the history of loving people in his life, he struggled to accept any good in his direction. Seeing him process the idea that he was loved? It was gratifying.

“Yes,” Phil murmured, affirming that he had meant his words the night before.

Clint looked at him, and he saw from the man’s eyes that all the multitude of feelings were returned. Phil knew then with complete certainty that he would never regret falling for this man. He could wait, and even be content with never hearing Clint verbalize the feelings in his eyes.

Instead of speaking, Clint pressed a soft kiss to Phil’s mouth. He looked shy and boyish but still intense after the contact. Phil’s heart helplessly flipped over.

“You have to go,” Clint said, assuming professionalism to ease them out of the moment. “Sitwell can’t hold fort forever.”

Smiling softly in agreement, Phil kissed Clint once, then leaned their foreheads together. “Tonight,” he said, leaving the promise of it open in the air of their mingled breath.

The sight of the smile and radiance in Clint’s eyes would bolster him through the day.

 

\- - - - - 

 

When Phil left the room, Clint grappled for his phone and sent a pleading text.

-Nat help

It was an hour earlier in Malibu, but Natasha was a crazy morning person, and a reply was quick.

/What now brat

-Phil said he loves me

He stared at the words on his phone until the screen dimmed. To hear he was loved was one thing, but to know it, and to see it typed out, gave it a different tangibility. Maybe he should have said it back to Phil.

His phone rang, making him jump out of his thoughts. Of course Natasha would call to talk instead of letting him hide behind text.

“How did he say it?” she demanded.

“It matters how?”

An unladylike snort. “It matters how, you oaf. What was the context?”

Clint’s insides warmed as he remembered. “Last night,” he said, “after sex. We haven’t seen each other in months, Nat. It was--” He figured she didn’t want X-rated details so he modified what he was about to say, “It was...more profound than we used to do.”

“Brat, it hasn’t been casual with you two for years.”

Sometimes, he hated how she knew everything. “No, it hasn’t,” he admitted. “But okay. After, he just...he said he needed to say it.”

A pause. Clint could picture Natasha pursing her lips like she did before challenging him. “Why didn’t you say it back?”

Again, annoying how she knew everything. “Nat, if I knew why...”

“Okay,” she sighed. “At least one of my boys can say it. He is head over heels for you, Clint. Blind people can see that, you understand? Does he know you treasure that?”

“Of course he does,” Clint snapped. “I’m pretty sure...I...maybe?”

Natasha murmured a curse he didn’t catch. “Does it scare you that he loves you?” she asked in a tone like she was teaching a small child.

“No.” Of course it didn’t. “I feel...bigger.” It was the only description he could think of.

“Then you don’t need my help. Try to make sure he knows you’re glad he said it, you socially constipated boy. He handed you his heart. Don’t squash it under those ugly boots of yours.”

Clint chuckled. “Thanks, Nat. I know feelings give you hives.”

Another snort. “Discussing feelings like teenage girls gives me hives. If he calls me too, I’m putting laxative in your toothpaste.”

He told her she was the worst best friend ever, and she laughed until he hung up.

 

\- - - - - 

 

Donald Blake had co-conspirators. Phil let them all go, just to see what would come of it. Crashing into a SHIELD compound meant you had a new government shadow, but the small group didn’t seem to care. Sitwell asked why they should be let loose, but Phil had only a hunch as explanation.

It was quiet. For a while. For a given quality of quiet on an active field site. Phil didn’t see Clint, but he knew the man was around by other agents’ skittish behavior. Apparently Clint was no more a fan of the previous night’s security breech than Phil, and had taken up an old habit of surprising people out of nowhere to keep them more alert. Agent Delancey even attempted to complain about Hawkeye, until Phil arched an eyebrow at the agent’s black eye, courtesy of their large blond visitor. Clint was in the right about the importance of dealing with unexpected attacks. If Clint’s teaching methods were unusual, Phil allowed them because SHIELD dealt in the unusual.

Phil was taking an actual break when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He let himself smile when he saw the text was from Pepper.

/Friendly pestering you for more cellist details :)

A large part of Phil regretted having to hide his thing with Clint due to security issues. But if he couldn’t share about Clint by name, he could give out a few nonspecifics.

-Going well despite distance, he sent back.

/Awww :)  
/I want to plan a sappy reunion for you two now

A bit late for that, Phil thought, another grin pulling at his lips. His reunion with Clint had been...well. It had already happened.

He did want to tell Pepper a lot more. Phil hadn’t had a close female friend in a while, excepting Natasha and Maria, who were less typically chatty than Pepper. Her sweet intrusive enthusiasm was nice.

-Neither of us is big on huge romantic gestures, he replied. Which was true. Romance between two top agents? Not typical by any definition.

They hadn’t actually done regular romance. Clashing together in Budapest, led to casual physicality in safe houses, led to intimacy without all of the awkward progressive stages. They’d been more intimate than friends as a consequence of their jobs. Years before the mission in Budapest, they had seen both darkness and joy in each other. Phil was glad for the lack of actual dating. Neither he nor Clint would fare well with that, he thought.

Regardless, Phil thought about actual romance. Maybe Clint deserved a bit of wooing. Fury seemed to think they should, if his teasing about a New Year’s date was genuine. Smooches, really? While the support was welcome, the way Phil’s friends went about it was absurd.

/Come to me for romantic advice? was Pepper’s offer, genuine and confident and giving.

Phil was more likely to ask Pepper for help in courting someone, than ask the likes of his coworkers, who actually knew him and Clint better. Sitwell was as gossipy as a repressed housewife, Natasha complained it gave her allergies, Maria’s advice was downright scary, and no way would Phil ask Nick Fury for dating tips.

Romancing Clint would break all the cliches, anyway. What were the possibilities? A bouquet of new arrows? Dinner at an obscure restaurant? Something purple? Phil chuckled at himself. Definitely not a traditional romance.

Sitwell clamored into the room. “Coulson, we have a thing.”

A short goodbye to Pepper, and Phil was up for more occupational insanity.

And insanity it was. Donald Blake was not actually Donald Blake, and Phil was never going to live down the “Son of Coul” thing.


	18. Heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hot and heavy sex, with a touch of feelings.

“Men in suits are so hot; let me be your business you professional son of a bitch.”

They pawed at each other in Phil’s office back at Headquarters. Apparently, the new suit had not gone unnoticed, and it was doing things for Clint. Clint’s field uniform did things for Phil, so turnabout was only fair. Clint’s hands were doing things to Phil’s ass and he found it hard to protest.

“This is unprofessional,” Phil managed to gasp.

Clint only pressed Phil harder against the desk. “Reprimand me,” he growled.

“Fuck,” Phil hissed. He gripped Clint’s arms and shuddered.

“I hope so.”

Breathing out a helpless laugh, Phil managed to pull slightly away from Clint’s sucking attentions on his neck. Ambushed in his office by a horny Hawkeye made him feel dirty in the best way.

“Clint.” He rocked his hips involuntarily when the man nipped at his jaw. “My office is not the right place for what I want to do to you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Clint drawled out the words next to Phil’s ear. “Why’s that?”

“Not enough room, for one.”

Green eyes glanced down at Phil, the color nearly lost in Clint’s arousal. “That has me intrigued.”

Pressing forward to lick at Clint’s lips, Phil said, “Can’t ride you like a bronco in my office.”

“Fuck, Phil...”

He liked this power he had over Clint. It was useless on missions -- he would never sexually manipulate someone in the field like that -- but when they could steal time he loved planting ideas in Clint’s mind. He aroused Clint like that. Not much made him harder than the knowledge that he made Clint hard.

“C’mon hawk,” he drawled, “hold on until after hours. I won’t be that professional son of a bitch if I let you molest me at HQ.”

“Damn you.” Clint leaned slightly away with his hands on Phil’s hips. “Just so you know, I’m going to peel you out of that suit the first chance I get.”

Phil grinned. “Sounds fair, if I can peel you out of your clothes.”

“It’s not fair, us being at our jobs so much because we’re so good at them,” Clint grumbled. “I’m trying to make up for those months of lost time.”

“No you’re not. You just get impatient when you’re horny.”

Chuckling, Clint shrugged his agreement. “You don’t help, either. You know I have a thing for your suits.”

“And I have a thing for your uniform. We’re even.”

Detangling himself from his grip on Phil, Clint gave him a sweet kiss before stepping back, Hawkeye’s formality taking over again. He said he would see if any agents wanted impromptu sparring sessions. Phil almost felt sorry for anyone caught on the end of Clint’s current frustration. If they added plans to meet that evening at Clint’s place, it was only with the utmost calm professionalism and only mild smirks.

 

\- - - - - 

 

“I want to kiss every inch of you, oh my god.” Clint’s enthusiasm was barely restrained before they were both safely inside his apartment.

“What is it about this suit?” Phil wondered aloud.

“I don’t know.” Clint ran his hands up Phil’s lapels, fingernails feeling the fabric texture. “It’s new, so it makes you look newly hot?”

“Only your logic, hawk.”

“Hey.” Clint flicked the edge of Phil’s shirt collar. “My lust has no logic. You are illogically hot. Now, do I get to peel you out of this sexy suit before or after you ride me?”

“Logically, I should get undressed before I fuck you, but if your thing for my clothing is as bad as you say, maybe I should indulge you.”

“You and your college vocabulary.” Clint liked to tease about that, but he held several respectable certificates himself.

“You know how to take care of my vocabulary,” Phil said against Clint’s lips.

“Mmm...” Clint nudged his body closer. “Undressing you is so fun, though.” He kissed Phil deeply, tongue tracing every contour of Phil’s mouth.

What could Phil do but hang on? He slid hands under the t-shirt Clint wore, needing that heated skin under his fingers. A talented tongue had Phil nearly forgetting his promise of earlier. Maybe he would let Clint ride him. Whatever Clint wanted, if he kept kissing like this.

Clint hummed again, already slurring with arousal. His long fingers began at Phil’s tie. “I can picture it. I’ll undo one part of your clothes at a time,” he demonstrated by slowly sliding the silk knot of the tie apart, “I’ll kiss so much of you,” he laid his lips hotly along Phil’s Adam’s apple, “then you can ride me like that fucking bronco you mentioned.”

“Clint...” He was already whining.

The man was licking Phil’s neck now, wet heat like fire where his tongue traced. Phil shoved a leg between Clint’s, grinding against the man’s crotch. Clint’s responding shudder was glorious. For a while they rubbed together in Clint’s living room, just appreciating the luxury of each other.

When Phil lost his jacket to Clint’s eager hands, he scraped his teeth over Clint’s ear. “Need you on your knees,” he whispered, “so I can ride you.”

A four-letter word spilled from Clint’s mouth against Phil’s skin. Awkwardly he shoved Phil toward the bedroom. Along the way they both lost their shirts and almost ended up on the floor themselves.

Phil retaliated for all the manhandling by pushing Clint to the bed. He watched Clint’s glorious naked torso as the man knelt and looked over his shoulder.

Damn that sultry look. Phil felt his cock pulse so insistently it almost hurt. He kept eye contact with Clint as they both undid their pants. Phil shuddered when Clint shoved off jeans and underwear in one motion. His own tailored slacks and boxers met the floor quickly.

“Hands and knees,” Phil ordered, sliding his palm over Clint’s shoulder and gently pushing. Clint went easily, and Phil had the pleasure of touching and kissing along Clint’s back. The younger man gasped and arched under Phil’s touch.

He knew where Clint kept the lube now, and swiftly retrieved it. He saw Clint clench the sheets in his hands as he waited. When he trailed fingertips down Clint’s spine, Phil felt the man’s delighted tremor.

“You’re a work of art,” he said, kneeling next to Clint to brush slick fingers between Clint’s cheeks.

“Phil,” Clint groaned, “want it hard tonight.”

“How hard, my hawk?”

“Want it like you’re gonna plow me open, babe.” He looked at Phil with nearly desperate burning in his eyes. “Tongue, fingers, cock, fuck me deep, Phil. Forget that proper suit and just fuck me.”

“God...” Phil rested his forehead on Clint’s shoulder. “Keep up that filthy mouth.” He slid a lubed finger into Clint’s body. When Clint groaned, Phil nipped the line between shoulder and neck. “Going to play with your hole, first. Goddamn fantastic ass.” He pushed a second finger in. “Full enough yet?”

Clint undulated his hips. “Not yet.”

“Greedy.” Phil scissored his fingers, turning Clint’s head with his free hand to bite at the man’s lips. “Just take my fingers in your ass. Fucking feel it.” He thrust out and in, faster until Clint keened.

“More!” Clint demanded. “Make me take it.”

Shifting to kneel behind the man, Phil leaned over the eager, muscular body. Slowly, despite Clint’s demanding words and rutting hips, Phil sucked a mark to the side of Clint’s neck. He worked more lube in around his fingers. His cock slid between Clint’s legs, nudging the man’s balls. Both men groaned.

“Almost want to make you come on my fingers,” Phil said, “then fuck you while you’re all blissed out.”

Clint reared to his knees, back flush against Phil’s chest. He moved with Phil’s body like it was a stripper pole. Phil almost lost it at the sudden tightness of Clint’s thighs on his cock.

“You can do that if you want,” Clint said. “Sounds hot, you giving it to me like that.” He gripped his own cock to stroke as he rocked back onto Phil’s fingers.

Phil let his tongue slide over Clint’s shoulder, tasting the slight salt of skin. “No,” he murmured, “not tonight.” He spoke directly into Clint’s ear, “I want to be inside you when you come.”

Clint exhaled on a whine. He gripped Phil’s arm where it lay across his stomach. Phil wanted to hold this man forever. Wanted the brazen intimacy of their bodies together. Wanted to fuck both of their brains out.

“Clint...”

“I know. Phil, please...”

Of course he knew. Clint had to feel it too, even if the actual words didn’t come. Phil withdrew his fingers to a lovely sound from Clint, and slicked himself up. Clint spread his knees on the bed, practically presenting himself.

“You still want it hard?” Phil asked, lining up at Clint’s eager hole.

“Want it all at once,” Clint said. “Want it hard and deep. Want all of you, Phil.”

All of him. Phil would gladly give. Going slowly at first so he could watch the head of his cock spread open Clint’s spectacular ass, he soon thrust home. Clint’s moan was pornographic, and Phil’s brain was gone.

“So full,” Clint said. He arched his whole body, as if it was possible to take Phil any deeper. “Fucking impaled on your big, sexy cock.”

A graceless grunt tore from Phil’s chest. “You make me an animal.”

“You like it.”

“God, Clint, you -- your everything. Fucking hottest thing ever, taking me like this.”

Clint’s response was a delectable purr. His body fit against Phil’s in warm, strong perfection. Phil began thrusting, mindless except for the sounds Clint made to spur him on. He braced a palm over Clint’s chest and felt the man’s groans. Phil watched where they joined, watched himself slide into Clint’s body.

“Make me take it,” Clint ordered. He reached back and clutched at Phil’s hip, demanding for it faster.

“You are taking it.” Phil was grinding hard now, scraping fingers at Clint’s nipples. “You’re a slut for my cock.”

“Only yours. Love that cock.”

Phil surged up into Clint. He panted against the man’s skin, riding his lust until the bed creaked. If only he could keep this pace, he would fuck Clint for hours. Days. Just feeling this, hand tracing the muscle of Clint’s abdomen when the archer met his thrusts. He sucked another bruise into Clint’s delicious golden skin, just over the right shoulder blade. Clint growled something about marking him.

“You like my teeth marks on your neck?” Phil asked.

“Like showing them off. Mild-mannered Coulson can’t help himself...”

“Can’t help it when it feels like this. My cock deep in your ass...” He thrust hard for emphasis.

Clint shouted. He met Phil’s thrust with what seemed like his whole body. His climax came hard, treating Phil to the sight of toned muscles moving. When his body clenched, Phil followed into bliss. He swore he felt his own release slicking the way further, coming more than he could remember.

Clint’s controlled sprawl to his stomach left them both gasping into the mattress. Phil stroked Clint’s sides, loving the movement of ribs beneath his fingers. A few heavy breaths later, he slid off Clint’s body to flop on the bed. Cleanup would have to come later. Clint rolled to his side, facing Phil and running a lazy hand over Phil’s chest. His smile was warm.

“Not too soft, not too hard?” Phil asked.

Clint licked his lips. “Just right.”


	19. Rumors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They cause more office rumors than should be humanly possible.

“I have this fantasy,” came Clint’s voice from the doorway of Phil’s office. “You put your pen down and leave the job before midnight, and let me feed you. I know it’s pretty kinky, but what can you do?”

Phil allowed himself a small scowl. “You’ll just have to go unfulfilled.”

“I know you haven’t eaten since 1300. There’s this all-night Chinese place that makes the best broccoli beef...”

“Barton.”

“Coulson.” Clint folded his arms. “You need to get away from your desk.”

“I’m fine.”

Now Clint was scowling. “You know you can’t be ‘fine’ in this job.”

He was right, damn him. For an agency like SHIELD, people had to be everything, or they were nothing. Being “fine” might mean being dead in short time. Phil looked at Clint for a moment. The archer looked tired as well. His eyelids drooped and his usual loose-boned posture was more slumped. The man was coming to him, offering food and companionship. He must see a need.

Phil made a token protest anyway. “They may have found something in the Arctic...”

“That something has probably been there a long time. It can stay there another day longer. This is me, Coulson. Friend, not specialist.” He picked up Phil’s suit jacket that had been laid over the spare office chair. “Get up, stretch the kinks out, and come fill your belly.” It might have been innuendo if Clint’s tone was anything but gentle. “It’s 2200, Phil. That’s nine hours without a meal. I’m not beyond taking you hostage.”

Briefly Phil wondered if Clint was aware of the first name slip. It didn’t really matter. This late at night, everyone was more informal. Deliberately shifting mental gears, Phil took the jacket Clint offered and let the other man lead them out.

Maria Hill was on an overnight shift and regarded them as they went by. “Didn’t think you’d actually get him to emerge,” she told Clint.

“Never doubt my Coulson-wrangling abilities,” Clint said. He held out an expectant palm, wiggling his fingers.

With a put-upon sigh, Hill produced a twenty dollar bill and handed it to Clint. “Damn graveyard shift makes me take stupid bets,” she mumbled.

Phil looked at her. She met him with her patented irritated look. The woman spent the majority of her job unamused at everyone’s antics. The rest of the time she practiced her poker face because sometimes agents were a highly deadly comedy routine. She’d once confided in Phil that a big part of her job satisfaction was witnessing the high school antics of her coworkers.

“You should watch that weakness of yours,” Phil told her.

She snorted instead of laughing. “He’s your weakness. He’s everyone else’s nuisance.”

“Hey!” Clint said. “I am a highly-developed walking exasperation.”

“You don’t even know what the word means.”

Clint flailed at Phil. “Tell her that’s mean! Defend my honor, Coulson!”

Phil scoffed. “Whatever feud you started with Hill, I am not a part of it,” he said. “Aside from apparently being the subject of cheap bets.”

“Twenty dollars is not cheap,” Clint said. “Do you know the banquet twenty dollars can get you at McDonald’s? Also, I did not start it, Hill. You’re jealous that I am Coulson’s favorite.”

“It’s cute you think you didn’t start anything.” Hill looked close to patting Clint’s arm with sarcastic sympathy, and Phil bit back a smirk. “Shoo,” she said, making the motion toward Phil. “And don’t let him take my money to McDonald’s!”

Amongst Clint’s protests that it was not Hill’s money anymore, Phil managed to shuffle them both to the parking garage. Clint’s purple Dodge gleamed in the underground lighting. Phil almost insisted on checking out a bland black company sedan, because who finds that shade of purple, honestly, but Clint was already unlocking the passenger door. Because it was less effort and he really was getting tired, Phil slid into Clint’s car without protest.

“Hill needs to listen to gossip more,” Clint said as he started the car. “Everyone knows you and I are genetically enhanced telepaths working to take over the world, and obviously we would have worked together to conspire to get her to lose that bet.”

“I hadn’t heard that rumor yet,” Phil said. “Admirable amount of paranoia in it.”

Clint chuckled. “What’s the most recent rumor you’ve heard?”

“Aside from the Captain America thing?” Phil could mention it because he and Clint had the same clearance level. He was trying not to squeal over it, but the mere idea...

“Yes, aside from that, you adorable fan boy.”

Phil wasn’t mad at the gentle teasing. Even Natasha was amused and had sneaked in some good quips. Phil knew he would be pretty hopeless if the rumor proved true. “Someone in Chemistry Lab 2 told me he heard Fury was in some sort of negotiations with Batman. Someone else said it was with Spider-Man.”

“That’s old news,” Clint said. The colors from the midnight streetlights slid over his face as he drove. “I’ve been told he’s holding secret meetings with Superman. Fury is actually from Krypton, and he has to wear the eye patch to keep control of his super power.”

Phil laughed softly. “Nick will like that one.”

 

\- - - - - 

 

The topic of office rumors came up two days later as Phil sat with Fury, Sitwell, and Hill during their semi regular group lunch in the second floor conference room. The four were an odd social group.

“I heard something interesting recently,” Sitwell said after a long drink of his iced tea. “Barton has gotten so tired of pining, he’s gone to a voodoo priestess to cast a love spell.”

Holding back a groan, Phil set aside the crusts he’d pulled from his sandwich. “Who is he supposed to be pining for this time?”

“None other than you, Phil.” Sitwell’s glee was just the wrong side of weird.

“That isn’t new,” Hill said. “Every week, a new variation makes the rounds. Barton has been hopelessly in love -- or lust -- with poor oblivious Phil for the past decade.”

“Nice that you’re both so plugged into the teenage-level intel,” Phil said.

He and Clint found more than a little amusement in the whole thing. Neither denying nor confirming the relationship rumors meant they only grew wilder, which was hilarious. The professional agency of SHIELD loved its water cooler chatter.

Fury was grinning.

“What?” Phil snapped. He knew that smug look was never good.

“You know,” was all Fury said.

“Half a dozen personnel down in Medical are jealous,” Sitwell said. “Phil Coulson, office heartbreaker. Barton’s had to resort to drastic measures.”

Phil did sigh now. “Why does everyone think we specifically have all this...unresolved sexual tension?”

“Because you do,” Hill said.

“Actually, we don’t.”

He let his words sink in while he finished his soda. Hill slapped her hand on the table, exclaiming that she knew it, and Fury burst out laughing. Sitwell pouted about Phil not telling him.

“I wasn’t sure for a long time, either,” Fury said. “They’ve always been the way they are, so who could tell if anything had changed?”

“How long?” Hill demanded, and Phil sighed again. “Really, though. I suspected, but I swear you two got a perverse thrill from dancing around each other.”

Looking to Fury for help did nothing. Phil gave up. “Since Budapest,” he said.

Hill whistled lowly. “Fuck’s sake, Phil. That’s more than half a decade. Are you two secretly married, too?”

Phil shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. “I’m finished divulging. You’ve probably won more than your twenty dollars back in the betting pools, don’t deny they exist.” He ignored the tongue Hill stuck out at him.

Sitwell’s head tilted as he watched Phil. “Do you love him?” he asked suddenly.

Phil’s poker face was answer enough. “Oh, damn,” someone said, and Phil couldn’t disagree. He’d been considering announcing that he and Clint were together. It obviously caused no issue with job performance. Saying something publicly was a way of honoring Clint, really. It would publicly say that Clint was worth more than simple acknowledgement.

“I’m actually impressed,” Hill said. “You’re clearly mature about it.”

“They wouldn’t be some of my best agents otherwise,” Fury said.

Everyone knew how Director Nick Fury felt about fraternization regs. In their line of work, civilians couldn’t often share the emotional support of a relationship. Secrets and security levels had ended many romances. Fury knew the close ties among soldiers meant they fought better alongside each other.

“Well,” Sitwell said, “it’s one of the few couples I can’t say anything bad about.”

Phil appreciated that. He also appreciated Fury redirecting the conversation to the Avengers Initiative. His thing with Clint was not new, but he still chafed under probing personal questions.


	20. Avengers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snapshots from the movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was intimidated when time came to write this. I wanted to try a different style, not to infringe on the excellently told narrative of the film. It plays weirdly with canon, and I am pretty loose with the correct timeline, but I think I achieved the disjointed stream of consciousness I was going for. I alternate point of view and made it purposely short and choppy. See if you can guess whose pov is whose!

No  
no no no no no  
I didn’t get to tell him

 

Barton’s been compromised   
Barton should never   
he’s down   
he’s been down but not like this   
not this violated   
Clint   
my Clint   
please

 

Everything blue   
everything wrong   
unnatural   
not right shade   
not like eyes   
not at my best with a gun   
you fucker   
sorry Fury   
sorry Hill

 

Captain America   
wow   
watched while you were sleeping   
so sorry   
Clint would laugh   
fuck  
need Clint   
fuck this whole thing

 

Not your hawk   
no   
only Phil’s   
don’t take that from me   
not yours to take   
give me an eyeball   
not your hawk no   
no I will not give   
you say we’re not important don’t take what’s important to me

 

How many lives until stomping the anthill gets boring   
how many agents is enough to prove your power

 

Too much blue   
not enough sleep   
no  
stop asking   
Phil is not for you

 

Someone   
please  
help   
need Clint   
everything wrong

 

What no   
not a god   
stop forcing the blue   
just want sleep now   
dreams   
please   
Phil   
not wrong color   
no more bad blue   
too many days   
so tired   
let me go   
too many agents

 

God of mischief   
god of destruction   
even I don’t know what it does   
just try me   
you will lose

 

Natasha   
I see you   
help   
come back   
bring me back   
I’ve been unmade

 

God of trickery   
god of lies   
god of backstabbing   
you lack conviction

 

Everything hurts   
everyone compromised   
this is not the same as anything   
gods and magic   
just jerks   
will my brain be my own anymore   
Nat you know

 

So that’s what it does

 

I can fight   
I can fly   
I’ll fly it down Loki’s throat   
Phil’s right about Captain America   
Steve is real

 

Sorry boss   
sorry Marcus   
not enough for everything   
not enough time   
too many thoughts   
too much pain   
just sorry

 

We were trained for this   
combat familiar   
no not like Budapest   
wish it was   
what the hell space whale

 

Don’t regret   
Clint   
please   
never regret it

 

I got him

 

Dark   
take pain away   
sorry

 

Watch your eye socket   
bastard   
puny god   
give you a drink   
pathetic   
pitiful   
better than you   
at my best with a bow

 

Is this Limbo?

 

Shawarma really?


	21. Shawarma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch my feels. After hearing serious spoilers for Agents of SHIELD, I had to rewrite all of my plans from this point onward. Curse my need to comply with canon for this! The pheels haven’t left me for days. Poor Clint, honey, it will get better. (My feels may not.)
> 
> Possible foreshadowing spoilers for Agents of SHIELD.
> 
> Trigger Warning! This chapter contains point of view description of a panic attack.

Anything would taste good after the battle. Anything to prove they were still rooted to this planet. Alien invasions, Clint thought with a mental head shake. Madness and magic and monsters.

He glanced at the man to his right. If anyone was Jekyll and Hyde, Bruce Banner was. That big green guy was something. But he was heroic too.

To his left, Natasha nudged Clint’s leg and passed him a piece of chicken. She sometimes fed him after a rough mission, showing her affection by seeing to his biology. No rougher mission than what they’d just been through. He nudged her in return with the leg he’d propped on her chair.

Blinking felt like rubbing sandpaper over his eyeballs. He was pretty sure he still had glass imbedded in his back. Nobody else was in better shape though, so he felt in rather good company. Fury’s crazy dream had paid off. The Avengers were real, and Clint was one of them.

Captain America was one of them, and Phil was going to embarrass himself so much. It would be adorable. Steve himself was adorable, propped half asleep on his arm. He was a good guy. Clint hoped he could get to know him better.

Thor was just as big, blond, and imposing slouched over the table as he’d been slumped by his hammer a year ago. Thank fuck the guy was as different as possible from Loki. Clint might be able to deal with that.

Then, Tony Stark. Both the exact same and exact opposite of expectations. Guy was a hero and antihero. In Clint’s mind, the biggest unknown of the bunch.

Stark raised his drink suddenly in a toast. “To fallen friends,” he said. He paused before adding quietly, “To Phil.”

Clint blinked between Stark and Natasha. His next bite went down like swallowing bile. “What...”

“Oh, dude, Legolas,” Stark was jabbering, “while Romanoff was playing percussion with your skull, your agent’s Agent was being a big damn hero.” He was flippant in the way people got when trying not to completely break down. “Stabbed by that Spear of Destiny.”

The floor under Clint’s chair was heaving. He looked to the only person nearby who was capable of rooting him back to the ground. “Tasha?”

“They think...” She was glaring at Stark.

“Uh, ‘cause he is? Bloodstained collector’s cards and everything. He was gonna get Spanglybutt here to sign them, apparently.”

Steve covered his face with his hand. “Tony, please.”

Clint couldn’t move because all of his blood was gone. “Natasha,” he said, very slowly and carefully. “Coulson...?”

“Fury said he was down. There’s more to it. There has to be.”

“How, Ms. Agent, might you know this?” Stark pointed a straw at her. “Psychic to go with all the other spy skills?”

“Tasha...” Was that Clint's voice? Was he pleading?

Stark opened his mouth again, but Natasha beat him to speaking, “Anthony Edward Stark, you stop talking now.” The man did, closing his mouth as a placating gesture. Natasha gripped Clint’s knee and stared hard at him. “Look at me. I know Fury. I know Coulson. This isn’t over. Hold on, Clint.”

“Is this a panic attack?” Clint asked. His vision wasn’t right; there was a gray haze... He could hear his own heartbeat. Natasha’s grip on his leg felt far away.

Thor was murmuring something about the Son of Coul’s heroism. Maybe he was shouting it. Clint’s hearing felt funny. Murmurs around the table floated away as Clint tried to focus, to breathe. What had happened? Had he done it?

“Katniss, is that a mental breakdown? What is-”

“Clint and Coulson have been together for seven years, Stark, you fuckhead, now shut up.” Wow, Natasha never swore.

“...Shit,” Stark whispered.

Steve was blinking at everything. “Oh, god. So, when Coulson-”

“Coulson lives,” came a new voice. “Actually...he does, and doesn’t at the moment.”

Nick Fury himself stood in the destroyed doorway of the shawarma restaurant. He looked as weary as any of them. Spots of purple were beginning to show in a few places on his face, testifying to nasty bruises to come. Clint looked up at the man, the only possible person who could claim a closer tie to Phil. Was that kindness or sorrow in his eye?

Breathe, Clint told his lungs. He couldn’t decipher the curses as Stark launched himself over the table at Fury. It took both Steve and Thor to restrain the billionaire. Natasha was murmuring an old Russian poem she used to talk down peoples’ panic, murmuring Clint’s name between stanzas.

Fury remained a dark, unflinching statue. “Gonna need a fuckton of your medical tech, Stark.”

That froze Stark in Steve and Thor’s grip. The billionaire’s Adam’s apple bobbed once, twice, as he swallowed before speaking. “All of it,” he said. “All of it is his.”

The expression in Fury’s eye was going to haunt all of them.

“I can’t stand up,” Clint heard himself say. The world was listing to the side. “Gonna need Medical too.”

“Keep breathing,” Natasha said nearby. He couldn’t quite focus on her.

He really shouldn’t have tried to stand. Fury’s image swirled in front of him as Clint felt the blood rush out of his own head. He felt Natasha’s strong grip on his arm. He thought Stark said his name instead of some nickname. Clint’s last thought before the darkness was, finally, sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, readers! I appreciate every one of you. <3 I've been struggling with writing this lately, which probably shows in my lack of updates. From here on out, it's going to be difficult, not only with fandom emotions but real life crap.
> 
> A humble request. If you comment, might you give me an extra special nummy treat and provide some feedback? Constructive criticism helps writers. I've been writing for 24 years (whoa that's a realization for me) and I can always improve. Requests to write more don't really help me to write. Kudos are an ego boost, but I would love to know you readers' specific thoughts on the story. Thank you, everyone!


	22. Vigil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up, waiting, and support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part of my mind that houses the Clint-voice wanted to cry so much. It will be okay, Clint honey, just stick by Phil's side.
> 
> It's been years since I last posted a chapter, and I feel bad. Real life threw a lot of crap my way. I feel accomplished by picking this story back up and actually doing something with it, though. Thank you, readers. I hope you all haven't given up on me.

He didn't want to wake up. He wanted to sleep and stay warm in the dark. Sleep was a luxury and he should cherish it. He must not have been sleeping well again.

“Come on, brat. It's been ten hours. We need you here now.”

Clint always hated being found out. His bigger problem now was who had found him out. He blinked awake to find what he'd expected from the voice: Natasha perched on the foot of his bed, her hair a welcome shock of color in the hospital-drab room. “I need to stop doing this.” SHIELD's various medical wings were familiar camping ground by now.

“You needed it this time.”

His everything hurt. Along the way during his time at SHIELD, Clint had picked up some anatomy courses, focusing on muscles and bones, which were hugely helpful with the physical demands of his job...but he hurt in places he'd never been taught about. For a moment he wondered if he'd grown a splanch, just so it could be painful. 

His memory flooded in. “Shit! Fuck...Nat...”

Clint's body wouldn't obey him, and that only fed the panic. He tried to flail against the mattress but he was too weak for even that. Natasha's small hand squeezed into one of the few non bruised spots on Clint's shoulder. That anchor of her strength was enough to ease Clint back onto the pillow. He gulped air for several moments. If he didn't get himself in line, the various monitors stuck to him would summon medical personnel he didn't want and couldn't handle.

“Nat, please...”

It was okay if she heard his voice break. He was her person. Vulnerability had long since stopped being a liability between them. She would know anyway. She'd know that his memory was the last thing he wanted now. She would know the seductive call of amnesia as alternative to trauma.

Too bad this time. Clint felt his own heart lurch into his esophagus. The things he'd done, he could eventually live with, with a heaping dose of psychiatry, but those weren't the memories that had made him faint. Those weren't the revelation that had ripped out his guts then crammed them back in sideways. The sheer sharpness of Clint's panic swamped his bloodstream.

“Tasha...” His voice was gravel scraping over concrete.

Her nails pinched through the fabric of his hospital clothes. At least two of them felt broken. She'd need to repaint them. Clint made himself imagine the spectrum of colors she preferred, and thought not for the first time that he needed to buy her something new to deviate from her obvious rut of nail polish variety. A half dozen minutely different shades of red got so boring after a while.

Natasha tilted her head down for several seconds, hair spilling forward to hide her eyes. The set of her jaw said everything she didn't. A moment suspended between them, filled with the beeps and hisses of medical equipment. Finally, she tilted her head toward the other bed in the room. Clint looked, and again he had to swallow his heart back down where it belonged.

Phil Coulson was alive. Attached to far too many tubes and wires, but alive and not on a morgue slab. The world snapped back into focus for Clint. He recalled the moment over shawarma, the panic that had swirled through him. There was a God. Not Thor, but an actual benevolent being who cared enough to give Clint back his world. Later, Clint would scoff at his own internal melodramatics, but in the moment he was made of nothing but relief. Phil was alive. Phil was there.

“My boys,” Natasha said. Clint knew what she didn't say: that she had watched over them both. He leaned into her for a precious moment, taking strength and giving gratitude. The fact that she let him was telling.

Phil was the heart of SHIELD. Phil was Clint's heart. Simply surviving was the easy part – a long healing process stretched ahead of them. Them, Clint repeated in his head. There was no Clint and Phil as separate entities anymore. It was them. Package deal. Clint wasn't going anywhere but full tilt into Phil's healing. Even if Phil didn't want it, which Clint was more than mostly sure he would.

“You deserved to see him first,” Natasha said. “The others were in bad shape. I sent them away to rest.”

Couched in Natasha-speak, that meant she had kept this moment for Clint, for him to be the first to see Phil alive, because while she didn't believe in love for herself, she saw something in her boys.

Clint could breathe again. His world was no longer acid trip-bright, but the proper shades of red and white and brown and gray. He only wanted to see one shade of blue from now on.

Ignoring the pull on his bandages, Clint levered up to sit in the bed. Natasha didn't help because she knew he needed to do it under his own power. His gaze didn't leave Phil. Damn, the man was pale. But he was there. It was reality, because Natasha wouldn't have let him see her jaw clench in a hallucination. Her lipstick would still be there in a hallucination.

“Oh, Phil,” he whispered. Loki had said Clint had heart, then the monster had taken it away. The thing was, the heart in question didn't belong to either of them anymore. “Big damn hero, aren't you.”

“You know he'd argue that label.”

“He'll just have to wake up so he can argue it. Stubborn ass.”

“Like attracts like, brat.” Natasha was already folding the sheet away from Clint's legs so he wouldn't have to wrestle with it to get out of bed. “Too stubborn to give up or give in, so I expect words between you soon.”

Yes. Words. As soon as Phil woke up. Words like, don't sacrifice yourself like that again, it's not your job to pull the stupid moves it's mine, if you're gonna go then we go out in a blaze of glory, back to back like it should be. And other, smaller words. Three of them, in fact.

Clint wondered if he would cry. Tears at some point might be therapeutic. For now, he eased onto his feet, sore more than anything and probably dehydrated. Clint was the lucky one.

Natasha kept her hand on his arm. A welcome anchor point of strength. Never would the suggestion cross his lips, but Clint offered her his strength in return. It's what they did. No way was she any less affected than him. It was Phil, after all, done up with bandages and bristling with tubes in that hospital bed. She went with Clint as he made the vast journey across the five feet to Phil's bedside. When he got there, the bedside railing stayed steady under his grip and Natasha laid her own hand on the bar next to his.

“I can't touch him,” Clint said. Phil looked like tissue paper that Clint's knobby fingers would destroy.

“You need to.”

In another world, she would be his soul mate. Or his arch nemesis. She certainly knew Clint well enough to cut through anything he built in her way. Drawing a deliberate breath, Clint reached to brush fingertips over the immobile hand of Phil's as it lay on the bland sheets. Veins were visible purple under Phil's unnatural paleness, but his hand was solid and real. Clint allowed himself a tiny sob. So this was how Phil felt all those times it was Clint laying on such sheets? Clint was going to apologize himself blue in the face for all those times.

Natasha leaned against him for a moment. So much strength in such a small package, and Clint had no words to tell her how much it meant. He was nearly sure she already knew. Saying anything would be redundant, and it would spill all those feelings she hated everywhere.

“I'm telling them you're awake now,” she said, the tiniest accent creeping through. Message creeping through that she would also keep the others away for a while longer yet. She looked at Clint's fingers on Phil's hand, then squeezed the bed rail, and left the room.

The beeping of various monitors was a kind of music that for the most part gave Clint the confidence that this was real.

“Phil.” It was the only word he wanted to say. He was still half-convinced that Phil would disappear if he stopped saying the man's name. “God, Phil. This...it was like nothing else. Somehow, it worked. I think.” His thumb rubbed over Phil's knuckle. Clint breathed again, taking in the scent of antiseptic and overly laundered linens. “Here's the thing,” he said. “Will you come back? You already did, but...well, you need to. You hear me, Phil? Unconscious people are supposed to still hear things.

“Wake up so I can tell you I love you.”


End file.
